Black and White, Scars at Night
by MorgaRoths
Summary: In the ultimate "what if", a child from the Joker's past becomes the adult who rips open a deadly and terrifying conspiracy.
1. Summer Meeting

1

It was summer in the Midwest. The heat shimmered over the drying grass, and a gang of cousins and their friends ran helter-skelter over the farm. The few trees had children and animals in and around them. The grandparents and parents sat on the porch visiting and enjoying the first day of their annual gathering.

A yelp broke the tranquil sounds, though it went unnoted with all the other noise. Again, it came.

"Chad, give it back. Please!"

The big boy laughed, and held the book and sketch pad high. The little girl hated having her older siblings' college friends come and visit, especially boyfriends and girlfriends. They were the meanest.

"Well I might, Jasmine, or I might not. Can you reach it_, princess_?" He mocked, using her father's pet name.

Jasmine stopped pleading and trying to find a way to trip the giant football player. He was her sister's boyfriend and her brother's friend. She didn't dare get him in trouble, or the whole family would shun her for a week. She studied the pencil she still held, and wondered if she could find a garter snake to leave in his bed. She was deathly afraid of snakes, but letting Chad sleep with one almost made the idea palatable.

A man stood from the porch and started over the lawn. Was he her dad's friend or one of her brother's? It didn't matter. They were all equally mean.

Chad laughed, and thumbed through the book, a collection of short stories. "Baby stuff," he muttered, and tucked it under his arm. Then, he opened the sketch pad, and flipped the pages, eyeing the drawings and grinning hugely. That's when he saw the one of him, drooling after a random girl, his knuckles dragging the pavement. Jasmine braced herself as he reached for her collar.

"You little tramp! You have no right to-"

A lean hand grabbed Chad's wrist before it could get near the child. "And someone made you censor for the day?" An icy voice asked. Jasmine looked up, and saw it was the man who'd been walking over. He was strong, holding the large hand in place, without batting an eye. Swiftly, he plucked the books from Chad's possession, and thumbed through them himself. When the college student tried to move, the man simply, twisted with his thumb, stretching the wrist joint painfully. After a few seconds, he let go and turned to Jasmine, holding out her things. "Trade you for the pencil?"

She studied his face, the bland eyes, the brown hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail, the serious mouth. Slowly, she held out the pencil, and took the books. He nodded in thanks, and turned again to Chad, spinning the writing tool through his fingers. "You know, everything has several breaking points? If you can find one, the other faults show up really quick, and," he held the pencil out with both hands, fingers lightly on each end, then he twisted, shattering it neatly into two jagged halves. "Voila."

Without warning he grabbed the visitor's arm, and pressed the two tiny spears against the wrist. "It also doesn't take a lot to figure you haven't bled a lot, or be hurt a lot. Advantage to being the big football player, but the disadvantage? You can't handle something like this," he mocked, watching Chad turn pale, nearing tears. Releasing the younger man, he watched him walk away. Then, he turned to the girl behind him. "You okay?"

She nodded, looking up with big green eyes. "He couldn't do anything really bad, there are too many people watching. Thank you for getting my things back for me."

He was wearing a vest over a loose polo shirt, and reached into one of the pockets, pulling out a small souvenir knife. "It gave me something to do, besides," he began whittling on the broken pencil, "I don't like football players."

Jasmine frowned, watching his hands work quickly. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing personal. They could just think of something besides games every so often. Thus, the term meathead." He held out the pencil, one half carved to two points, the other to one and the eraser still intact. "That should work. Take art lessons?" She shook her head, and examined the tools he returned to her. He smiled a little as he watched her solemn face. "You should, they're pretty good."

Jasmine looked up as if she didn't quite believe him. He held out his hands, the knife still held loosely in his fingers. "What, no one's told you good job before?" She shrugged, and he returned the blade to its pocket. "Come on, your grandma said there was a creek somewhere, but in this heat I'll have to see it first."

She led him across the yard to a stand of trees. In them the creek ran, dreadfully slim from lack of rain that spring. It was, however, deep enough to wade in, and Jasmine promptly kicked off her flip-flops and walked in. The man unlaced his army boots, and followed. They moved around in compatible silence for a time, before Jasmine looked up through her dark hair. "What's your name?"

"Jack. What's yours?"

"Jasmine." She smiled for the first time. "You're one of my dad's friends, aren't you?"

"I know your dad," he said. She studied him again. He couldn't have been much older than Chad, but he seemed to be. The way he talked and moved, they way nothing fazed him. She slid to the bank and sat down. Pulling out her sketch pad, she began to draw.

Jack sat beside her, watching her work. After about fifteen minutes, she handed him the book. There, she had drawn him. He was walking across the grass, slightly slouched, hands stuffed deep into his pants pockets. It was only an outline, the perspective off here and there, but it was clearly him. He smiled and patted her back. "Nice."

"It's yours." She said shyly.

He paused, his face unreadable. Slowly, he tore out the picture, and held in on his knee. "Thank you, this is special." He told her.

She smiled, and leaned against his shoulder.

The rest of the week went too fast for both of them. Jasmine never found out his last name or what he did for a living. He never asked her any questions either. He showed her a few tricks to stave off bullies, and she followed him like his shadow.

Her father told her one day, "Jasmine, don't bother Jack if he needs some space."

Zeke, her father's closest friend laughed. "Don't worry, Brian, he's enjoying the attention as much as she is, right, sweetie?"

She nodded, adding quickly, "If I think he wants me away, I won't bug him. I promise, Daddy." She meant it. She wasn't about to risk offending her only friend.

When the time came for everyone to leave, Jasmine simply handed him her sketch pad. Jack also said nothing, giving her an army knife. She waved as Zeke drove all her father's friends away.

It perhaps was the summer Jasmine looked back on with any fondness. It certainly was the only summer she felt had prepared her for life.


	2. New Assignment

**_Forgot to say I welcome feedback. (I won't bore people with endless comments at the beginning of chapters unless needed.) This is a "what if", most of my stuff is._********_Alternate Universe if you prefer, just to see what I can come up with._********_I give random last names where I can find no definitive ones._********_And, no, I own nothing. _******

2

Jasmine Richards reached up to the left side of her face and rubbed the long scar that ran just in front of her ear. It was a habit she'd developed when thinking, but few of the people in her new department knew what she was touching.

Her plans for college had fallen though along with her relationship with her sister, Zoe. Jasmine had gone to school, intending to become an exclusive designer for Zoe, as soon as Zoe became a model. Zoe's hopes came true, but her increasing behavioral issues drove Jasmine away. Her family had drifted apart over the years, so having a heart to heart or begging help and advice from them was out. Money became an issue, so she sat down and took a hard look at herself, what she really was. She found a few surprises in the soul search, but made her decision. She applied to the Police academe.

Graduating top of her class, she worked her way up to detective. That was when her personal tragedy occurred. Her trust was never given so freely again. She dug a short, hard nail into the puckered line along her face and shoved the thought away.

The move to Gotham had been during this troubled time in her life, and her employment in the police force had been largely due to Bruce Wayne. He had seen some of her old art in an online article about her college. Intrigued and with money to blow, he'd found her in the hospital and made her an offer. If she would create any piece of art he requested, no questions asked or answered, he would see she had a job and home for a year. After that, she should be well enough established to make it without his name to back her.

Jasmine wondered sometimes if it had been the pain killers talking, but she'd agreed. Having Bruce as a personal friend had its advantages, she was forced to admit. He was gradually earning her trust, and even respect, despite the party habits he displayed.

Leaning her forehead against the glass, she watched the interrogation. Another peon; another dime-a-dozen kid trying to make a few bucks and a name with a crime boss. For all his clichés, he had a name and soul. It hurt to understand that. But it would hurt worse to let him go.

Gordon walked in, and stood beside her, his hand in his pockets. For his mousy appearance, he had the spirit of a lion and the courage of a Roman legion. To say Jasmine admired her boss was an understatement. He nodded towards the kid and her current partner Mitchell inside the room. "How's it going?"

"Mitchell's getting ready to lose his temper. The kid's scared, and I don't blame him. Most people who roll over on this particular man don't see their next meal." Jasmine sighed. "Nothing you can't tell, though."

"I have faith in you." He smiled behind his mustache. "You're known for being the daredevil around her. In your last post too, if I read your file correctly, and I'm sure I did. Tell me, what does that stellar instinct say?"

"That he really doesn't know much. He knows one fact, and that is all that's keeping him valuable to us and his silence in all that's keeping him alive." She dropped her hand from her face to the badge on her belt. "He saw something happen, he told me that much. It had nothing to do with his drug deliveries, but it scared the tar out of him. He started crying in the backseat."

"Crying?" Gordon gazed in confusion at the black boy cuffed to the table. "It must have been something horrible."

"I sent some patrol cars to check out the area it could have happened in. Maybe they'll find something."

They watched in silence for a while. Gordon cleared his throat. "Mitchell has asked for another partner. Last week…you scared the heck out of him."

"Yep." Jasmine reached up to her scar again.

"He's the third partner I've assigned you since you were placed under me."

"Yep."

"The fifth you've had since you've arrived."

"Yep."

"Can't you say anything else?"

She turned her green eyes on him and crossed her arms. "What do you want me to say?"

"My officers aren't used to your style. I'm frankly surprised you've been allowed to work this long. Your last psych analysis was barely a pass. I'm not surprised, not many survive an attack like that, let alone come out functional."

Jasmine smiled, knowing what he was angling at. "I'm willing to take another psych evaluation if that would help. I don't expect Bruce Wayne's name to create a career for me. But, I have no intention of explaining myself to partners. Ever."

Gordon frowned in concern. He liked Detective Richards, but he often wondered if she had the stability to handle law enforcement. He drew in a sharp breath.

"When you wrap this up, you're getting a new assignment. I'm putting you on guard detail at Wayne Enterprises. There've been a few…incidents. Lucius Fox can read you in when you get there. And I promise, if you're needed here, I **_will_** call you back."

She grinned widely, amused at his attempt at decorum. "You mean I'm a publicity problem. I need to be relocated as a lone wolf or removed entirely from the force."

He shifted uncomfortably. "There are people after your hide, it's the only choice I have that lets me kept you. I mean it, stop laughing. It's not funny, Richards."

She walked over and patted him on the back. "Oh it is, I promise."


	3. First Day

3

Fox was exactly as she remembered him: comforting, genial and courteous. The freckles on his dark skin fascinated her, almost tribal in appearance, moving with every smile.

He looked up thoughtfully as she waited for him to explain what her work was to be. "What has Gordon told you?"

"Zilch." She shoved her hands into her pockets, feeling the weight of her army knife on her hidden belt. Her Glock and Beretta were neatly secured in her side holsters. She was no longer a woman who left things to chance. "He said you'd explain."

He laughed and scratched his wiry grey hair. "I only know what's been given in statements. Mostly it's the usual heckling and grouchy letters any large company gets. Two incidents do stick out. A visitor was accosted in the parking garage, got roughed up and took a few bruises home. Never caught the guy. Second was one of the staff…that's really all I have. It was strange because she reports everything in endless detail. This, she just admitted to and that was the end of it."

Jasmine looked at the floor in thought. Her hand went to her scar, and she remained that way for several minutes. Eventually, she looked up. "I'm not even going to ask for the security tapes. If you'd had those you wouldn't be talking to me."

"No, we wouldn't." He sounded half regretful, and glanced at his computer as if having the footage to get rid of her would have been wonderful. She hid the look of amusement at the tone.

"Is there anyone specific I need to be assigned to?" Oh, a name would make all the difference in the world!

He frowned. "I'll let you know. Right now, just get to know the building. Here's your ID, and don't lose it."

She clipped the plastic card to her jacket, and thanked him. Apparently, Fox wasn't the one who had requested her presence. Walking out, she pulled up the mental map she'd formed from the directory. Following her gut, she found Bruce's office, and to her surprise smelled hot tea. Tea meant Alfred, and Alfred meant Wayne.

Jasmine nudged the door open with her toe, and met Bruce's innocent grin as he sat behind his desk, hands folded neatly before him. "Save it for _Time Magazine_, buddy. You set me up."

"Aren't mad, are you?" He asked, standing up to shake her hand.

She sat down across from him, and looked over her chin as she leaned back. "Not really, but I think Fox has few choice comments to make when he gets you alone. You really should have warned him."

"I think Master Wayne could give all of us a warning, Miss Richards." A crisp English voice spoke at her elbow. Alfred handed her a large mug of tea, and smiled kindly, his blue eyes sparkling. She grinned back, unreservedly. Alfred Pennyworth was one of the few people she felt more than professionally towards. He was also one of the few who was really what he seemed.

Beaming up at the older man, she accepted the tea. Taking a long, loving sip she let out a satisfied sigh. "Bless you, I needed this."

"And no wonder." He muttered, glancing meaningfully at a paper on a nearby ottoman.

She laughed, and raised her cup to no one in general. "Bruce, give this man a raise."

A snort from the corner told her Alfred had retreated. Bruce came around and sat on the arm of her chair. He raised a dark eye brow, his slender face serious. "What do you think so far?"

"Of?"

"The two incidents Fox told you about."

Slowly, she reached out to set her mug on the handmade glass table beside her. It was one of her better pieces. "I think you are all hiding something from me. I think something serious has happened, and you want to be sure I'm the one for the job. Otherwise, you'll just stick me on security to keep your promise." She leaned her head back to look the billionaire in the eye. "Our year-long agreement is up first of the month, so after that maybe you'll be honest with me. For now, I'll play along. What's up?"

After exchanging a look with his butler, the business owner stood and walked towards a file cabinet. "The Joker has sent a couple of videos threatening Wayne Enterprises."

"Tell me you're kidding! As if I haven't heard enough about that guy already,"

"I assure you, we have validated this threat, Miss Richards." Alfred spoke gently from his seat, but the words silenced her.

Bruce nodded. "Gordon and Batman have, according to rumor, started hunting this guy down." He held a large packet in his arms. "It's not very pretty, think you can look?"

She nodded, and took the many folders in her lap. Opening the first, she felt like she was looking in a mirror. A girl, maybe sixteen, was sprawled on a nameless sidewalk, shot twice in the chest. Her eye were glazed, wide, the look of fear still apparent. Her mouth had been carved from ear to ear in a grisly smirk. Another showed an elderly man hanging over a railing, his mouth pulled into the smile by wires wrapped around his head. Face after face, name after name, and autopsy after autopsy, but none of them children. In all the carnage, there was one line that remained uncrossed.

"Gordon compiled this, didn't he?" She asked, reaching to her own scar.

"Yes. It took him a couple of months; it's from all over the country. At every scene, he leaves a joker card. These are just the ones involving homicides. There are thefts, vandalism, assault, blackmail…" Bruce trailed off. "It's like a bad film, isn't it?"

No, she thought, it's worse than that. Her gut told her none of this was the worst. The worst had yet to surface. She tied the folders together and handed them back. "I've got them, give them back to Gordon."

"You sure? I can let you keep them a while,"

"I'd really rather not."

Putting them back and locking the drawer, Bruce turned and slid his hands into his pockets. "Do you need any equipment? Anything at all, I can find it for you."

"I'd love my own Alfred, but I think that's not in the deal." She said, standing abruptly. "Mostly, just convince Fox I'm on his side."

"I'll pass on the message. Anything else?"

She thought for a moment. "A second phone, secure line. Voice activation would be nice, but not necessary."

"Done. You've met Rachel Dawes, right?"

Jasmine sensed dangerous ground. "A couple of times, why?"

"Which tie should I wear?" He pulled two out of each pocket, and held them up, obviously having planned to ask her from the beginning. She groaned and grabbed her tea again.

"Wear the one Alfred already selected, nimrod."


	4. Chance Meeting

4

Jasmine had been walking Wayne's halls for a week, and was feeling decidedly stir crazy.

Alfred had kindly left her a key to Bruce's office, and in the office a supply of tea, Oreos and novels. She pounced gratefully on Beowulf for a few days, but then turned to a collection of poems by an unknown author. Her favorite was entitled _Black and White._

Black and white shows the night.

Colors fade from simple sight.

Nothing wrong can look aright.

Every sound brings loss of might.

Black and white another night.

Black and white, scars at night

Where the truth is hard to fight,

Darkness shows your deepest fright,

Nothing there, barely light,

Black and white, another night.

Black and white, what is right?

Is grey the answer to every sight?

And will you learn to stand and fight?

What do you see with lack of light?

Black and White, Scars at Night.

She was lost in the last stanza when her private phone rang. Fox's picture showed on the screen, sending her into overdrive instantly. He would never call unless something were wrong. "Hello?"

"Richards, there's a problem in the back of the lobby. I think it's the Joker."

"Lock down, clear the halls, I need a path," She said and hung up. She allowed herself to stop thinking; her training would take over from there. Fox could be trusted with the fate of the rest of the building.

She went to a service elevator that would take her to the centre of the lobby, but still closer to the back. As the doors slid open, she scouted the area. Nothing, not a sound.

Suddenly from the back, a shotgun blast took out a colored window she had made. A large man wearing purple rushed past, several followers wearing clown masks tagging along and a young woman carried in their hands, trying to scream.

"Police, drop her!" Jasmine shrieked, pulling out both semi-autos and letting off a few warning shots around their feet. The goons blanked instantly, and released the woman, running. The larger man at their head adjusted his own mask and pointed his shotgun at her. She ducked, feeling the wiz of the tiny pellets. He began to reload, backing away. She holstered her Glock, and picked up a shard of glass. As he raised the gun again, she threw the glass into his thigh, just above the knee where muscles and tendons intersected. It bit deeply, and he howled in agony, dropping the weapon. She raised her Berretta and leveled it, standing between him and the girl.

Seeing the woman shaking on her back, Jasmine barked, "What are you waiting for? Scram!"

The traumatized girl complied, and the man tore for the doors. A black car backed into the building, through the glass and the hatch opened. Suddenly there were two men in purple, the larger diving into the trunk. The smaller just stood there, watching. He wore no mask, but had a brightly painted face. He dropped a piece of paper to the ground, and took off.

Jasmine tore after him. She had never been much of a runner, but she had tremendous endurance. As long as she could see them, she could down them.

He raced around the corner, and up a fire escape. She followed, racing up as fast as she could. The man was incredibly strong and agile. Somehow, she reached the roof before he'd leapt to another escape or building. "Hold it! I'll shoot!"

He skidded into the air conditioning unit, raised his hand and turned. Jasmine had a hard time keeping the firearm even. A cold feeling settled along her spine. It wasn't the scars stretching his face, or the wild eyes. "Jack?"

Jack seemed surprised for a second, but the cynical smirk settled back into place. "Hey, kiddo, what's up?"

Her voice shook as she recited, "You're under arrest for the,"

"Save it, it's not what you think." He shot back. "It won't stop if you jail me. I'm the only one who can stop it."

She swallowed her tears back. For the second time in her life, someone she'd been close to had betrayed her. "Right, I'm to take your word for it."

"Got a cell?"

"Yeah."

He nodded in the general direction of her pockets. "Get it out, type in the number 5656579843."

She did, never looking away or removing her finger from the trigger. "And that will, what, undo the past nine months?"

"No, it's a tracking number. Look at the blip, that's me. You can plug that in and find me anytime."She glanced at the picture, and sure enough, there was a green dot on the map of Gotham, right where they were. "That'll help, won't it?" He asked.

"What game are you playing, Jack?"

"This is not a game!" He roared. "Why, of all the cops on the face of the earth, did you have to be the one to catch up to me?" Sirens sounded in the distance. "You have ten seconds to make up your mind. You can use that, and let me try to clean up this mess, or you can run me in and loose any chance of stopping them."

She let her arm drop. "That tracker had better work."

He laughed, maniacally. "What are you going to do if it doesn't? You've just got to trust me, Jazz. Welcome to Chaos."

He vanished over the wall, and she stood there, letting the wind wash the thoughts from her head.

Bruce, Fox and Alfred were there talking to Gordon when she returned. She shoved her hands into her pockets at the expectant look on their faces.

"He got away. I'm sorry."


	5. The Cookie Crumb Trail

5

The gym in the backstreet was poorly lit, but it had a shooting gallery and knife practice area. The owner believed in training well rounded individuals. Those were the reasons Jasmine had decided to take her membership there instead of a peppy, popular one in a business area.

She had gone there after the mess at Wayne Enterprises had settled and signed out a set of throwing knives. For the past three hours, she'd been hurling the blunt blades at paper targets.

Long ago, she had learned that most of the women her age were desperate to prove to their male counterparts that they were equals. It was a wasted effort, as most of the guys didn't really care, or only wanted to josh the edgy girls into a temper tantrum or a supposed 'issue'. She found that the energy they spent trying to become a man in essence would have been better spent on skill improvement.

Jasmine wasn't a man, being emotionally distant hadn't come naturally to her. There were some things she just couldn't do physically, mentally, and emotionally because she had been born a girl. She accepted that fact. On the flipside, she was better suited to certain assignments and cases because of those weaknesses. She could understand a woman who had been attacked because she had been a woman attacked herself. She could comfort a child or a rape victim when a big man could have scared them into silence. Seeing the duality of the situation made her a stronger tool than beating her head against a wall that didn't exist.

Jack had said it years ago, find the weak points, and you know the objects. When and where it will break, and how much it can withstand. Thinking of Jack turned her gut and she threw harder.

She hadn't always taken the time to evaluate herself. Being slashed had forced her to admit there were points where she could be broken, places it would hurt. Training to be the best she could be as herself had made her far more effective than trying to prove she could make it. In her quest to build her talents and shore up her weaknesses, she had made it. She hadn't set out to, but she had. She was a functioning detective, and basically respected in her field.

In a burst of rage, she threw a knife from each hand, and watched them quiver in the board. Forcing herself to behave like an adult, she pulled the practice set from the target, signed them back in, and went to the shooting range. She emptied two clips from each handgun before deciding to go home.

Marty, the owner, watched her walk towards the door. "Saw the news. Tough day."

"Yep." She waited, knowing Marty either never spoke, or said everything on his mind.

"You okay?"

"Yep."

"Sure?"

"Yep."

He eyed her closely, and nodded at the phone. "You got my number if you need help."

She smiled, and gave him a thumb up. "I do, thanks, Marty."

It had gotten dark out, and she let the wind blow off the pavement over her face for a second. She ran a nail over her scar, and then went to her car. She started to unlock it, when she noticed a man sitting in the passenger seat. She crouched out of sight, gripping her Glock. He turned as if sensing her, and the sight of the painted face made her loosen her grip, though she didn't let go. Opening her door, she sat down and waited for him to talk.

"Sorry about that…uh…forcing your hand."

"No you're not." She challenged, keeping her voice down as some high school boys marched into the gym.

"Yeah, I am." Jack leaned his head into the space between the door and the headrest to avoid someone seeing him. "Look, I'll explain if you just drive."

She glared and slammed the door, cranking the key. "I'm getting a digital starter."

"Don't bother on my account, I can hotwire those too." His tone was dark, as if daring her to challenge him. She didn't.

After about ten blocks, she glanced over at him. "Care to share?"

"No, but I promised I would, and," he laughed, stretching the scars hideously, "everyone knows I'm a man of my word!" He said the last part almost breathily, clicking his square jaw to punctuate. Suddenly, his voice dropped into a gritty level. "What do you know about Operation 77?"

"Never heard of it."

"Neither have the people who were involved in it." He licked his lips, and moved them together, as if testing how far he could open his mouth. "It was really called Unit 40, a special forces division that never got off the ground." He pulled a flash drive out of nowhere, and dropped it into her cup holder with a flourish. "That'll be enough to get you started. Unfortunately," His voice rose, and he drug out the words, the Government has a goooooood reason to cover up, and they have done goooood at covering uuuuuuuup."

She gritted her teeth, and shot the drive a spiteful glare. She replayed everything she knew about the Joker as the Joker, but it wasn't much. She'd heard about his reign of terror, but her TV had been out of commission for weeks, and she'd yet to get another. She grew angrier with herself for being so ill informed, for not knowing it was Jack the whole time. It had been someone else's case, the beat cops' job; she had other things to worry about. "What happened to your face?" She asked, and wished she'd thought before speaking. It was and wasn't Jack. What was Jack, what was the Joker? From the silence beside her, she knew she was about to find out.

"Kid, I gotta tell you, I don't tell anyone the truth. Not that you'd believe me, but I think you'd…give it credence. So…That nice friend of your dad's did it."

"Zeke?" Jasmine gripped the wheel. "I'd bet."

Jack glanced at her. She wasn't making fun of him, she was agreeing. Interesting. "Do you know what that makes me?"

"The guy the bad guys are scared of. At least that what the police department says."

"Riiiggghhhtt, you're a cop now. Thought you'd end up in a basement sculpting forever, to be honest."

It was the strangest catch-up session Jasmine had ever had. "I almost did."

"What happened?" He sounded just like the guy on her grandparents' farm that summer so long ago. The guy that had saved her with a pencil when he could have pulled his knife instead. "Jazz?"

She sucked in her breath and shrugged. "Life happened, I ran out of money, options, friends and patience. My family has the world's worst track record for returning phone messages, so, I did what was available."

"I take it that wasn't applying for a managerial position at Wal-Mart." He spoke with his Joker voice.

"They wouldn't let me carry firearms." She quipped, skidding to a stop.

He clucked his tongue sadly. "Where's the joy in a job without some noise?"

Her green eyes shot him a look, but she didn't reply. After a few more blocks, she sighed. "You still haven't told me what's really going on."

"It ties into Unit 40."

"Jack," she started warningly.

"Okay, Operation 77." He huffed, blowing through his scared lips.

"Jack,"

"Just plug in the drive, it's not hard."

"JACK!"

He covered his ears and pulled his knees into his chest. His dark eyes shot her a hurt look, and he stuck out his tongue. He was in full Joker character. "Whaaaaaat?"

"What are you trying to say to me?"

He slid back into a normal posture. "I didn't do it."

She pulled over to a curb, slammed the car into park, and turned to face him. Rain was starting, she could hear it, and smell it though the vents. His mouth was working overtime. "Jack, really, tell me. I'm giving you one chance, and I can barely afford to do that."

"I know, I know." He said gently, looking sideways at her. It was freaky, the way his eyes looked out from the black painted sockets. He smacked his lips a few times, and then stopped moving altogether. She hadn't noticed how jittery he had become until then.

"What didn't you do?" She pressed, sliding her left hand to her gun.

"Any of it. Well, I sent the films," he corrected himself. "I didn't actually kill anyone."

She threw her head back and groaned. "Jack, you sent all the threats, you are the face that everyone is chasing. Something tells me that you know perfectly well how to do any and all of the things that are laid at your feet. Shoot, you're taking credit for them!"

"The Joker is."

"Do you know how to rig a bomb?"

"Sure, I can make one right now out of the junk on your floor."

"Do you know how to fire a weapon? Kill someone with the items at hand? Manipulate the city?"

"Der, yup." He drawled, sliding back into his persona.

"Then you're admitting you did it?"

"No, no, no, I didn't…I didn't do _it_." He shook his head, slapping green hair on her car seat and smearing the dye.

She slammed her fists on the steering wheel, hitting the horn accidentally. She jumped, glanced around to make sure no one was out on the streets watching and decided to control herself. "I put my friends, job, and life on the line by giving you a chance to explain. You say you can do this, but you didn't, yet you're taking credit for it?" She growled and dug her nails into the car dash. "Brilliant, Holmes."

"No, there is a Joker, he does exist. I'm just…the face that the public associates with him. My choice."

"Dear and Merciful Heaven, why?"

"Because, if I don't this may never end. The real Joker, he wouldn't send out videos, threaten specific people on his own, no I know what he's thinking, doing, planning. I'm giving the people a chance. I'm keeping the law after him, and when I can, I step in."

"And he just…"she waved her hands, "let's you?"

"Yeahhhhh, just let's me. We have a bond."

"That's gross." He gave her a funny look and she wrinkled her nose. "Not that way."

"I live in his head, you have no idea." He sounded really depressed, the way he snapped between sane and wild was creeping Jasmine out a little. "Look into Operation 77, Unit 40, whatever you want to call it. I'll give you the next clue after that." He opened the door and slid out. Jasmine realized he hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. Riding with her it qualified as suicidal. "Kid, I'm sorry, if I tell you, you're as good as dead. Believe me; you need to follow the cookie crumbs like a faithful little sugar addict. Now scram and get some sleep, think up a few lies. You're going to need them."

She watched him shuffle walk into the shadows, hunched over, ignoring the rain. With a growl that cascaded into a scream, she turned on the wipers and drove home.


	6. The First Crumb

6

Jasmine dropped her black jacket over her chair, and started thumbing through paper work. She hated lines. She hated spaces. She hated lines and spaces.

Kicking the table, she flipped her waist long braid behind her and stormed to the vending machine. She was in a worse than bad humor. Nothing like getting slashed with the news a special friend is the worst criminal in your city. Hurrah.

She put in her money, slammed out five candy bars, two sodas, and a bag of Chex Mix. Marching back to her desk, she glanced around before plugging in the flash drive. She had learned from one of the techies how to run a scan for anything on a drive that would hurt her computer. It came back clean, so she opened the files. There were two, one was pictures and videos; the other was documents or scans of records.

She ran through the written items, and found a few letters discussing the organization of a specialty team that had total jurisdiction. It would be Special Forces, but belong to no one branch of the military. It would be its own branch. It required highly trained mercenaries, bomb techs, electricians, combat specialists, a tech crew, drivers, scavengers, repairmen, a woman for undercover jobs, and so on. Replacements were recruited and kept ready for instant deployment. The other letters concerned the dissolution of Unit 40, renaming it, turning it into a conspiracy theory.

Swallowing the last of her Chex and first soda, she clicked on the second folder. A group photograph was the first thing to pop up, labeled _Unit 40_. She ran her mouse over it, and found a name would appear beside each face. Most meant nothing to her, but when the name _Zeke Howe_ appeared, she felt sick. Zooming in, she cleaned up the section, and sure enough, it was Uncle Zeke. Next to him was a man that looked a little too much like her dad. Hovering the mouse, the name _Brian Richards_ appeared. She went over the other faces until a final name came up. A young, lean man was sitting to the side on a jeep, slouching, his dark hair pulled into a small pigtail. The name that showed was_Jonathan (Jack) Napier._

She pulled up the three faces, and leaned back. Her hands covered her mouth, and tears filled her eyes. The feeling of betrayal she fought constantly started to crush her. She'd grown up calling the one man father; the other was Uncle Zeke to all of her father's children. He'd cared for them like his own; better than his own. The third had been the first person to believe she had a future, and still seemed to believe in her. How had she not seen all of this? Her dad allowed strangers and any friend of her siblings and herself to show up and stay, just to cover his own meetings with cohorts. Why hadn't her mother known?

Closing the window, she went to the next picture. It was of Jack, the way he had looked when she had met him. He was wearing a lab coat, goggles, and gloves. He was building a bomb. The next two were of her dad and Zeke, training the others in hand-to-hand combat. The videos were brief records of drills or experiments that were more easily filmed than written down. She could tell Jack was behind the camera, he kept talking, prompting people or turning it to talk into the lens and add something. She found herself laughing as her father came unglued when Jack kept ordering him to do this or that during a combat demo.

"Jonathan, the last time I checked, you were over there." Her father growled, his craggy face and deep voice tight.

"So?" Came the cool voice from behind the camcorder.

"If you don't shut up, I'll be sure you're the subject of the next filming session. Strapped to one of your precious bombs!"

There were a few films of Jack running a course or practicing with a knife. He was freakish, strong, fast; he made it look too easy, too random. He had been trained prior to being recruited.

After finishing her snooping, she went to YouTube on impulse. Typing 'Joker video threats' into the search bar, she clicked on the first result. It was choppy, hurriedly done with home equipment. Just like the videos he had made for Unit 40.

"Learning about your enemy?" Gordon's voice spooked her and she clutched her Beretta tightly. He raised a cup of coffee and set it down. "Easy, I didn't mean to give you a heart attack."

She relaxed and nodded her thanks for the warm drink. "Yes, I am learning a little more about our Clown Prince."

"From the look on your face, you haven't seen these before."

"No, TVs busted." She sighed and looked up at him. "If I wanted to get information about a military organization, where would I go?"

He sat on the corner of her desk and frowned, making his moustache look longer. "Do you think there's a reason to?"

"I think our Joker has a military background."

Gordon wasn't sure if he should laugh or take her seriously. "Talk to Fox or Wayne. You're working for them right now, and they supply some military items. We don't have the jurisdiction for that kind of thing."

Jasmine wasn't sure if she wanted to ask Fox for a favor. As much as she respected him, she had a hunch that feeling wasn't returned. She dug at her scar. "Whatever, I'll see. They may not have jurisdiction either."

"Or, you could ask Batman." Gordon smiled, sipping his coffee. "I'm supposed to talk to him tonight, want to come and meet our masked wonder?"

Jasmine tilted her head to one side and a slow smile spread over her face. "Sounds awesome, is there a dress code?"

Gordon's face split into a grin. "As long as it holds your armory, it's fine.

If his plan worked, Batman would have a backup contact. Gordon wouldn't always be there, wouldn't always be available. Someone had to be, and Jasmine fit the bill perfectly. It would take a while, but he was willing to keep throwing them together as long as it took.

Backup was always good.


	7. Meeting a Hero

7

Gordon wondered why he spent his days sweltering and his nights huddled in a jacket. He glanced over at Jasmine, but she didn't seem to notice, her own jacket was worn solely to hide the two semi-autos and an occasional knife strapped between her shoulders. Right now it was probably buckled over her leggings, under her wraparound skirt. He often wondered why the knife was so special, almost a trademark. He never asked.

Jasmine's braid moved a little in the wind, strands coming loose and jabbing her eyes. She pushed them back, and kept her eyes fixed on the Bat Signal. Gordon often wished she'd quit being a cop and start a family. She was one of the gentlest people he knew, but also, one of the strongest. He had yet to find something she couldn't bounce back from.

Which was why he'd asked her to join him.

Suddenly, a rustle let them know a third person was on the roof, and Batman walked into the light.

"Here's the file," Gordon said, handing him a flash drive. "It should help. This is Jasmine Richards, by the way."

The man in the black costume gave a nod, eyeing her closely. She waved, and glanced at Gordon's face, the slight smile trying to hide behind the facial hair. "I think you and I were set up on a blind date, Batman. Sorry, I don't date."

The normally stern mouth twitched in the cowl. "Neither do I, Miss Richards."

"Bummer. It was nice to meet you, anyway."

Gordon sighed. "Okay, okay. I just thought it might be a good idea to have another person in the department you could reach. You never know what could happen." He peeked at them almost hopefully, and Jasmine laughed.

"Dude, not happening. No offence," she waved a hand in the general direction of the man hunched in the black cape.

"None taken," the rough voice answered almost laughingly.

The policeman cleared his throat. "There was another reason I asked Jasmine up here. She's working an angle on the Joker, thinks there might be a military connection. Would you be able to look at it for her?"

The shadowed eyes looked Jasmine over as if judging her ability to handle the task. "Do you have proof? Something for me to work with?"

She handed him an envelope with some of the documents printed off, and a couple of the photographs. "I'm running his name, but if there is a military background, I need a way to find it. As legal as possible would be nice, but I can live with myself if it isn't."

"Personal reasons?"

"Very." She ran a finger along her scar and looked back up to the Bat Signal.

He slid the envelope into a pocket where it instantly vanished. "I'll see what I can do. No promises."

"Didn't ask for any." She mused. "What can I do?"

"Be patient."

With that he was gone. She raised an eyebrow at her boss. He shrugged, and walked back towards the stairs. Jasmine leaned over and snapped off the light, then leaned over the wall, eyeing the cars moving below. She wondered how many families were riding together, or if it was only friends and solo acts. Maybe a date or two, there was a new line-up of films starting that night.

Tilting her head back, the young cop studied the sky, watching clouds drift by. The moon would blur or vanish, and then return, eyeing her back. She wondered what the moon saw, in the woman there below. Wondered if the moon thought about what could be, or if it dismissed humanity as a scurrying waste.

Laughing at her own fancy, Jasmine walked back inside and decided to go home.

She drove mindlessly, turning up the Skillet CD way too loud to avoid thinking anymore. The silence hurt when she got back to her apartment building, and she couldn't wait to turn on the radio just for a sound besides herself. She vowed to get a Television that weekend, not that she'd actually watch it. Noise, to avoid being alone. Sound, to keep her from going mad at her solitude.

Without really knowing when she'd decided to, she picked up the phone and dialed a number. It rang ten times, and went to voice mail.

_"__Hey, this is Brian, can't talk but leave your name and number, and I'll call as soon as I can."_

Jasmine blew out a breath she didn't recall taking, and said in a rush, "Hey-Dad-it's-me-Jasmine-just-called-'cause-soemthing-happened-today-and-I-needed-to-talk-to-you-please-please-please-call-back-this-time. Bye, love you."

She hit the red button and studied the painting on her wall. She had done it herself, all warm colors. She'd thrown paint on willy-nilly for a splattered background, and then painted a man in an overcoat and hat as a foreground. The splatters were red, orange, brown; the man was jet black with no features. It looked terrifyingly real all of a sudden, and she couldn't stand to look at it. It looked too much like a mobster in front of a wall where he'd lined up his victims. Or like the Joker….

Jasmine ripped it off the wall and turned it around, slamming her fist into the light switch and the room went dark.


	8. Another Day

8

Walking through Wayne Enterprises was humiliating for Jasmine. No one else blamed her, but she felt responsible for what had happened. She had let a suspect go for the first time in her career. She hoped Fox ripped her apart when she got to his office. It would do her soul some good.

He looked up as she walked in, perhaps a little worriedly. "How are you doing, Miss Richards?"

"Okay. Feeling a little bad about what happened,"

"I'm sure you did what you could."

_And then some,_ she thought but just nodded. She handed him an envelope with the same items she'd given Batman, perhaps a few more of the letters. "I need a favor; I know I haven't earned it yet so I'll understand if you say no. There's some…stuff I need help with. I think I can figure out the Joker if I can figure out this. Or at least get closer."

"Really are upset he ruined that nice stained glass artwork you made for Mr. Wayne, are you?" His warm voice asked easily. Jasmine relaxed instantly, glad for the truce.

"Not as ticked off as you'd think. I don't like very many of my pieces, as long as my clients are happy…"she waved a hand in the air. "Speaking of, those items I need help with are military level. If you don't feel comfortable,"

He gave her a strange look, and pulled out the contents of the envelope. He looked them over and set them out one by one, watching her face. "Do I have a name or two to go with these faces?"

"Zeke Howe might be a good place to start," She said feeling the rush of revenge. "If that fails…try Brian Richards."

Lucias frowned, suddenly appraising the young woman in front of his for real. He had always considered her a crown grasper, considering her sudden good standing with Bruce. She was pretty, gutsy, and abnormally calm. Her hair was always combed to the left, hiding one side of her face. If it wasn't in a braid or French ponytail, it was loose. She wore leggings and travel skirts, button up tees and that black denim jacket. He had rarely seen her without her trademark look, but for the first time, he thought that it might have been carefully crafted for a purpose. The clothing made sense, she carried the tools of her trade, and not everyone wanted to see the evidence of her job. The hair had never been cut, had never altered since he'd met her. If she talked to someone, the left was the first side she'd turn away. Little things stemming from the subconscious that added up to what?

He cleared his mind and asked, "Family?"

"My father."

"Do you think it's necessary?"

"It's fair." She said.

He left it at that, knowing from experience that it would do no good to press the secrets out. He wondered why she would willingly pull her family into whatever this was, but he gave it the credit it deserved. Bruce had already requested a similar check, so he could just give her what he found out for Mr. Wayne.

He smiled and looked down at the pictures. "I take it you have something against Mr. Howe."

"Yep." She grinned and pointed at him gangster style. "I owe you."

"Yes, you do." He stacked up the papers as she walked out.

Jasmine scouted the whole building before walking towards Bruce's office. She met Rachel Dawes coming out. The woman was really gorgeous. Not the model type, no. It was a face you couldn't get bored with, it had a lot of layers. Unlike Zoe's perfect angled bones, Rachel's curved making her look young and old, kind and strong, happy and serious. It was a very special face. Jasmine waited for her to walk by, and smiled.

"Hi, Richards, right?" Rachel asked smiling back.

"Yes, and you're Rachel." She held out her hand. "Bruce adores you; he won't shut up about you!" She hollered, and heard Alfred snicker as Bruce's knee jerked into the desk. Rachel laughed, and gave Jasmine thumbs up.

"Oh, I wonder what he says about me. Tell you what; I've been dying to talk to you anyway. Let's meet for diner? You can tell me _everything_ then."

Jasmine felt a little strange at that, being asked for a girl's night out by someone she had never met before. Apparently Rachel wasn't the jealous type. She smiled. "Sounds like fun, where at?"

"Rachel, I don't think you can." Bruce hobbled to the door, glairing daggers at Jasmine. "You have a witness to meet, remember?"

"I'm doing that now, I'll be free by then. Five thirty, six at Rosewoods?" Rachel asked, turned to Jasmine. The cop nodded, and they both turned to stare down Bruce Wayne. He turned red from the collar up, and rubbed his knee grudgingly.

Alfred cleared his throat. "Shall I fix you an ice pack, sir?"

"No, I do not want an ice pack."

"Very good, sir." He winked at Jasmine, and she stifled a grin before she insulted Bruce more than she meant to.

Rachel walked away, and Jasmine walked in. "Sorry," she said automatically. Bruce shrugged.

"Just my pride and my knee, nothing valuable." He muttered. "You really need a boyfriend."

"Yeah, like I don't have enough work already." She paused across the desk from him. "I owe you an apology for the other day. I could've…should've gotten the Joker. I over thought and it was too late."

He leaned back. "Better have tried and failed, detective, at least you aren't crippled by the…absurd." Oh how close to home he spoke! She gave up trying to tell the truth without telling it and sat down on the desk as he stood to leave for a meeting. "You'll be okay until I get back…" he remembered he was talking to a policeman and smiled. "Right, later."

Alfred came over and handed her a cup of coffee. She accepted and looked into his clear eyes. "What's the Rosewoods like?"

"A chick spot, I think is what Mr. Wayne calls it. Quite elegant, but you don't have to dress too formally, thus the attraction. Rachel's favorite place, but doesn't go there often, more fun with friends." He folded his hands. "Why do you ask?"

"I've never been there before, didn't know what to wear."

He raised a distinguished brow. "I didn't know you cared."

She threw back her head and howled. "My sister is a model; I was going to college to be her exclusive designer before I signed on to carry a gun. Of course I know what I've got on!" She shook her head. "It's nice to not have to worry about it most of the time."

Alfred nodded, and picked up a folder, placing glasses on his nose. Jasmine studied him for a moment. She often wondered what part of England he had come from, why he had settled with the Waynes. His devotion was undeniable, and she suspected that if cornered he was not one to give in without a fight. She often wondered if he had any family, or if he had been estranged from them. His past was Bruce Wayne, but that wasn't all there was to him, though it was a great part. It said more of him than his employer.

She turned her attention to the coffee in her hands, and guessed it wasn't Folger's.

The knife handle pressed between her leg and the edge of the desk. She thought of Jack, and wondered what his story was. From what she could dig up, he never told anyone the same story twice about what had happened. She didn't doubt what he had told her, as strange as it was. She believed every word he'd said about Zeke, and she would do anything she could to prove Zeke guilty of that one crime.

Alfred glanced up from his paperwork to see her staring into her cup, unmoving. She was as much a mystery to him as he was to her. He knew what Mr. Wayne knew, of course. She'd been short of money and given up an art career for one of law. She'd been attacked, leaving a nasty scar which she now hid. Much like Bruce, she used what had been done to her to make a mask and hide the truth. She however, preferred to avoid even hinting at her wounds and fears.

The loyal man smiled to himself. If Rachel and Bruce had never met, Jasmine would have been perfect for Master Wayne. He would have probably marched them down the aisle at gunpoint if reason and time had failed. The thought made him chuckle, and he missed the puzzled look the detective gave him.

The day went uneventfully, and Jasmine got home in plenty of time to shower and change. She left her hair loose except for a deco clip on the right side, and wore an ice green skirt and coat with a white silk shirt. She gave herself a glance in the mirror and nodded. Her arsenal didn't show or cause bulges. She grabbed a long coat in case the night turned cold, plus she just liked to carry one.

Rosewoods had been decorated primarily in light shades of pink and white with black accents. Each table had its own theme, lending a special feeling to the place. As Jasmine walked in, she saw a man gazing miserably around while his date squealed over every little item. She felt a twinge of compassion, but he'd asked her, he'd have to live with it for the night.

Rachel grinned as Jasmine came over. "I hope I didn't put you on the spot too much. I know working with a guy and then being asked out by another female co-worker…well, it can get awkward."

"Wow, a lawyer speechless on a human condition." Jasmine grinned back. "Don't worry about it. Bruce needs to be brought down to Earth every so often, I try my best, but help is always welcome."

"You two get along really well, you should just quit the Gotham Police and ask him for a job."

"Nah, I just got on Fox's good side. A job request might nix it. Besides, you said you wanted to know what Bruce says about you."

Rachel laughed. "I know what he'd say, so forget it. Really I just wanted someone to talk to that wasn't from my office or old school friends."

The detective's face softened. She understood, probably better than Rachel knew.


	9. Admitting Scars

9

The agreement had been mutual, twice a month. No more, no less.

Jasmine and Rachel made the arrangement that once in the beginning of a month they would meet for coffee, and later in the month they would meet for a nice dinner. Neither had the time or inclination to lavish time on a friendship, but each knew the other would be there and ready if something happened. For all of her independence, Jasmine felt better knowing she wasn't without womanly support if she really needed it. Their acquaintance did prove a handy tool in conversation with Bruce, either to shut him up, or to goad him in repartee.

Several weeks went by and she didn't hear anything from her father. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.

The Joker, however, crashed into her world once again. This time, he was waiting in her apartment.

She opened the door to see a figure at her table, and her hand instantly flew to her gun. He flicked on a flashlight, giving an eerie look to the face paint. "Boo."

"Dang it! That's a great way to get yourself shot."

"Ah, I'm not dead yet, so…" He clicked off the flashlight as she turned on the overhead. His eyes blazed crazily from the black circles. He watched her hang up her coat, and eyed the two handguns strapped in the concealed holster. "What'd you find?"

She crossed her arms and frowned. "Just what you wanted me to. I'm still waiting on a source, but I figured out your connection with my dad."

"So you just need some proof?"

"I need answers, and all I'm getting are questions, Jack." She sat across from him, glaring. "What exactly happened with you and Unit 40? I need to know, and there was nothing but the letters to say that…"

"Something Baaaaad happened. Something bad happens, always happens," he muttered. She slapped the table to get his attention and he laughed. "I wouldn't do that. I'm very touchy, kiddo."

She pulled the army knife out of its sheath, and jabbed it between his hands, narrowly missing a thumb. He stared at it for a second, and then she jerked it free, setting it in front of herself. He started gnawing on the scars. "Tell me what happened."

"A mission was compromised." He shrugged, sending the purple coat into ripples. "We were after a mob group, and something tipped them off. They were waiting for us, and well," He ran a hand along the edge of the table thoughtfully. He sounded normal for the moment. "Some of the team never made it out. We also lost some information to them that was sold, it nearly started a war. That's when the government decided Unit 40 should be disbanded. National threats and all, plus the organized crime element, it just didn't sit right with anyone." He shifted his weight, and started bouncing his legs uneasily.

"I wasn't really happy being told all my hard work as a bomb tech and so on was being passed off as a rumor. I wasn't happy with a lot of things, so I went hunting my own answers. I won't bore you with all the pesky details, but it took a while. The information leak lead right to Zeke, found out he was in their back pocket for most of his life." He tilted his chair back until it looked like he should overbalance. "Don't shoot me for that, I know how close he is to you all. Touching really, how _Uncle Zeke_ looks after the Richards."

"Let me guess, no one believed you, you went to Zeke and it went nowhere really fast." She picked up the knife and started balancing it on the tip of her fingers, feeling the weight of it pressing into her skin. It was one of her creepier habits, playing with the old weapon when she was alone. Seeing how it would react to certain motions, certain angles, how it balanced. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, replaying something in her mind. "Yeah, I know how Zeke plays his cards."

He leaned forward abruptly, crashing the chair into the floor and dropping his elbows on the table nosily. "So…I came to the right person."

"Yep." She stopped messing with the blade. "Go on; finish telling me your story."

"Well, Zeke may never raise a hand against your father, but he didn't bat an eye at teaching me a lesson. It nearly killed me, but I learned something alright." He laughed suddenly, harshly. "Let's just say he didn't stop with me. He found my brother in Oklahoma, sent some experts to work on him. I haven't spent a peaceful night since."

"Wait, your brother's mixed up in this?"

"Like pancake batter."

She slouched back, her mind trying to connect some dots. "You're chasing your brother, he's the Joker. You're just covering for him."

He clapped his hands sarcastically. "Give the girl a gold star!"

"Why?" She asked, disbelief clouding her face.

He went still suddenly. "He has a wife, some kids. Do you think they need to know their dad had gone on a crime spree? What would they do if word got out? A crazy uncle, and in-law, they can survive that. A crummy dad, you never really know what to do with that. Some people find a way, but I don't think they're the type that would. Say what you want, I know types." He closed his eyes and rubbed them slowly. "He's got a pretty big life insurance policy. It's only a matter of time before something goes wrong, and he doesn't go home. If he dies in crossfire, they'll get the money. Zeke saw to it there was a special clause stating if Chris dies while in a criminal act or lending help to a criminal act, his family won't see a dime. Believe me when I say without any financial support, they will crumble."

"Zeke's forcing your hand, keeping you on a leash." She said slowly.

His face split into a grin, the red making his teeth look yellow. "He already took care of that when he carved my face, no. Now he's just seeing how far I'll go before I give up or break or kill Chris myself." He eyed her as the wretched smile faded. "You don't seem surprised at what I've told you."

Jasmine stood and started coffee in the pot. She watched it perk; grateful Jack was giving her time to think her words through. "I went to Zeke for help once when I couldn't reach my dad. I found out something connected to a crime syndicate that was recruiting underage teens for some of the less savory jobs. My boss was sick; I thought Daddy or one of his friends would know what to do with what I found. I was such a rookie, a blasted, green idiotic rookie!" Jasmine started shaking, and held her arms tightly, watching the dark liquid drip into the glass container. "Zeke was the one recruiting. He took care of me himself, said it wasn't personal, but he wouldn't let anyone else touch me. I told everyone, I told them over and over, and no one listened. Dad least of all."

She reached up for two mugs, but her hands were shaking too badly to hang on and one fell. Jack had come up behind her and caught it, setting it softly beside the coffee pot. He took the other one out of her stiff fingers and put it down too. Then he wrapped her in a hug and let her cry. "I'm sorry, kid, I didn't know."

She sucked in a shuddering breath and shook her head. "How could you? You weren't around."

"What did he do to you, besides leave your hide to hang?" He asked gently.

For an answer she pushed the hair back from the left side of her face. The scar was pale, with purple where it hadn't faded yet. Someone had been very careful in carving it, making sure to be clean, while the final mark would be nasty. Zeke had wanted it to heal, had wanted her to live with it, looking at it every day. Jack hadn't mattered, he could have bled to death and Zeke wouldn't have cared. But Jasmine need to live with the knowledge her father's best friend was a criminal who had carved her face and turned her family against her.

"What did your family say when they saw this?"

"Nothing. They've never seen it. All they know is I was mugged and ended up in the hospital. Dad was gone anyway." She forced herself to calm down and poured some coffee, praying the strong beverage would steady her. "What's the next thing you need me to do?"

He gave her a confused look, dropping the cup from his stained lips quickly. "Huh?"

"You wanted me to research Unit 40, and then said you'd give me another step. What next?"

He tapped his fingers on the cup and looked antsy. "I think…I think I have a friend you need to meet. I think it's time to shake Gotham up a little."

Jasmine groaned, wishing she had gone to a movie instead of coming home.

_**The chapter you've been waiting for! Comments welcome, good and bad. **_


	10. Altered Percetions

10

Jasmine spent the first half a day at work trying to look as innocent as she possibly could. After lunch, she pulled her monitor around so no one would see it as they casually walked by. She would cheerfully kill Jack if this didn't work the way he'd sworn it would.

As much as she hoped he wasn't lying, she knew this moment would prove it one way or the other.

The night before, Jack had outlined a plan to pull out Zeke and cut off his section of the mob. It would force her father's hand, how she wasn't quite sure, and why she didn't ask. It would allow Jack to get one step closer to his brother, as well as the other obvious pluses. Namely getting another criminal off the streets and clearing their honor somewhat. Her job was to punch in a computer virus into the city's mainframe that would highlight any traffic Zeke's group caused. It would supposedly self erase in six hours, leaving no damage. Jack was going to appear at one of their 'special hangouts' as he called it to stir up some trouble. All the attention would alert specified groups in specified agencies, and the rest of the job would be done for them.

Swallowing her nerves, Jasmine opened up a case file with a notepad hidden with the other papers. Reading off of it, she franticly typed in the addresses, passwords, file codes and so on until she found the place Jack had listed. Inserting a disk into her disk drive, she loaded the virus into the system. It seemed like forever before the complete sign flashed and she could restart her computer.

"Brian, pull up the alerts."

Brian Richards looked up from the file he was filling in, and frowned. 'What's going on?"

"We got a hit on the chatter filters. Here," The office tech punched a few buttons allowing the older man to see the page. The list was rapidly filling in. "It's in Gotham. What the heck?"

Brian stood, his blue eyes boring into the numbers, reading them quickly. His square face growing hard, he whipped around and pointed at another man. "Pull up this info on the big screen, I want a grid of Gotham to show the numbers in map format as well."

They stood looking at the way the numbers tallied. A few minutes later a news clip played, showing confirmation of the digital records. "It's like the rest of Gotham disappeared and this is what's left," the techie murmured.

Brian smiled and drew in a breath. Zeke had not abandoned him. "Someone from an old team just threw us a bone, boys."

Seeing the man slouching against her car, Jasmine hustled over, unlocking quickly. "Can't you get in before someone sees you? This is the police parking, you know!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jack climbed in and pushed back his sickly green hair. "Well, checked my little homemade baby here," he waved what looked like a poorly made GPS around, "and we are trending."

"You mean it worked? Someone's coming, it worked?"

"Uh huh, like a charm. My ah…associates are eager to move to another step." He grinned disturbingly as she pumped a fist. "Now what shall we do?"

She pulled in a breath. "You're the guy with the plan, you tell me."

He rolled his eyes. "Do I really look to you like a guy with a plan?"

"No, but then, you never did." She replied, pulling out into traffic. "I'm in a good mood. Tell me where to go and I'll give you a lift."

He sat in silence, though not in stillness. Some part of him was always moving, hands, fingers, feet, toes, arms, legs, head, face, nothing was at rest. He'd gesture to show her where to turn every so often, but neither made an attempt at conversation for several miles.

At a long light, he finally turned to look at her. "Why did you keep the knife all these years?"

She glanced at him strangely. "Is it important?"

"It could be."

There was another pause before she answered.

"You were my only friend back then. Shoot, you were probably my only friend all along. I kept it because it was a gift, and learned to use it because I have it. I don't go anywhere without it because of the same reasons. Does that answer your question?"

He nodded, and pointed to the left, indicating another turn.

When they slowed to a halt, it was a drop site for shipping containers. Nothing moved except a few stray cats that looked ill enough to be health hazards. "Tell me this isn't your place."

"Ah, no, but a friend is loaning it to me. Here, this one." He found a set of red containers that were clearly placed there for storage rather than shipping. Opening a door, he bowed, showing her the way in. It was pitch black and she kept glancing back to see if he was laughing at her.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Just keep walking."

"A giant razor isn't going to come from the wall, is it?"

"March."

Moving carefully, she felt her way towards the back. Suddenly, he pulled the door shut behind her. "JACK!"

"Relax, I'm right behind you."

"That's not comforting."

He humped, and suddenly a mechanical hum filled the air. She felt the floor move, and grabbed at his arm to keep her balance. Light began to spill around them as they lowered into a deep shaft. At the bottom, a door opened to reveal what looked like an underground garage. Instead of cars it held large black army grade vehicles for ground and air, stacks of supplies, medical equipment, weapons, a wall of computers, several work tables, a door labeled _LABS, _and two plastic encased sanitary areas. In one corner was a kitchen area, with a living area right beside. Along the wall near that was a row of beds with heavy drapes to pull around them for privacy, a dresser and night stand.

"Glad you could make it, sir." An all-too-familiar voice said from the left.

There was Alfred, looking completely calm and holding an apron before him as if about to tie it on.

Jasmine looked around wildly, and there was Bruce, eating pie at one of the work tables, reading diagnostics on a screen. "Jack," he called absently, "Jasmine. There's some food in the oven, if you're hungry."

"Starved!" Jack yelped, and took off. Jasmine just turned to Alfred.

"Please tell me what's going on here."

He smiled and patted her back. "I know it's a bit much. Here, come have a cup of tea, it'll calm you down."

Had it been anyone besides Alfred, she might have hit them. Instead, she followed meekly to the table where Jack was inhaling roast beef at an alarming rate. She was handed a large cup of tea and a warm croissant. The older gentleman sat beside her and smiled gently.

"You see, we've been helping Jack chase down his brother for some time. Master Wayne and he created the virus you put up for us."

"So you guys are telling me you created the Joker to help Jack?" She shook her head and took a vengeful bite from her bread. "What kind of fool idea is that?"

"Granted, it's not been the easiest scheme. However, Jack has been able to handle most of it himself, with the exception of certain items. Really, all we've given him is funding tools, and a place to stay while the fictional face of the Joker keeps the law looking for the real one. He's done his share to help us, giving us clues to where other types of crime tend to happen."

Jack spoke around a mouthful of potatoes. "Nothing like having an investment paying back, you know."

Alfred gave him a glare. "Be that as it may, we need to see what you were made of before we brought you in on our little plans."

"Little? Hardly!" She turned on Bruce who had just started over. "And where do you fit into this."

"Me, personally? No place. Batman however, does."

The silence was absolute.

Jasmine clenched her fists and turned to each of them slowly. No one was kidding, no one was moving. "Who else knows?"

"Fox may, but we don't come out and express ourselves. Rachel does, and she'll be thrilled to have a friend who knows too."

"Glad I can help, what the heck are you all thinking?"

Alfred sighed and put his hands on her shoulders. "That we can help each other. Batman can't do everything, neither can a face villain," Jack waved happily from a newly filled plate, "but people with similar happenings and goals in their lives can make a formidable army, miss. I know you can keep our secret, but no one will force you to fight with us. Think it over and let us know."


	11. Relitives and Work

11

Not sure whether to feel disgusted or intrigued, Jasmine agreed to join in the effort.

As Bruce had predicted, Rachel was thrilled to have someone to talk to and confide her emotional strain over Batman in. Jasmine had never had another woman to 'girl talk' her personal issues with. In spite of the fact their suddenly daily phone calls were a welcome event, she felt that it wasn't quite the vent she needed.

This pattern went on for a couple of weeks, the triune force each battling the underworld in their own way. That's when the balance in Jasmine's world tip yet another time.

She was on her way to the gym when Zoe called.

The annoying tone drifted over the line in an almost panicked state. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry?" Jasmine stopped confused. Zoe never called, but now she made no sense. "Sis, I don't understand what you're asking me."

"Daddy came back last week, and started packing for another business trip. He said he had to stop in Gotham, and could Mom get a hotel reservation. I'm all like, you don't have to because Jasmine is living there now. They're all like, what no one told us." A popping sound came over, and Jasmine guessed her sister was chewing a large wad of gum. "Anyway, I told them you had moved there and sent everyone a new-address-so-you-can-reach-me card. Dad wanted to know what you were doing there, and I said working I guess, and gave him your info. Anyway, thought you'd like a halla. Gotta go." With that, the line was shut off.

Great, she thought. My former special ops father is going to stay with me while I try to dig up dirt on his best friend. Why didn't he just call Zeke? Something wasn't right.

Forgetting her workout, she called Bruce and Jack, letting them know what had occurred. Bruce apparently zipped to a computer and started pulling up her father's flight so she could meet him. Jack assured her solemnly that he would put his bombs away from her neighborhood while family was visiting.

Running home, she began cleaning and put a meal in the crock-pot. Alfred arrived twenty minutes after that with wine, bread, and a special coffee blend. She could have kissed him.

He noticed the painting turned to the wall. Pulling it out, he raised an eyebrow. "Guess you always knew about Jack somehow."

"It wasn't what I meant to paint." She sighed, stacking catalogs in the trash can.

"No, art rarely is what we expect in one way or other." He hung the painting back in its place. "That is why people need it."

After the apartment looked less like a cop used it for sleeping and showering and more like a home, Alfred left and Jasmine drove to the airport.

She scanned the people constantly, and nearly pounced on a stranger who simply was the same height as her dad. Bruce called a few times to give arrival updates, and ask if he could send anything else over.

Finally she spotted her dad. He was approaching a payphone, dragging his luggage behind him. HE was craggier than she remembered, though it had been a few years. Her stay in the hospital to be precise. Running up she called out. He turned, scanning until the moving woman caught his eye. With a bright smile, he walked over and gave her a hug. "Zoe spilled the beans, I see. I was just about to call you."

Jasmine smiled and stuck a hand in her pocket, not sure what to say. "Yeah, well, you got any other bags?"

"No, these two and this carry on are it." He lifted them a little. She took one and carried it to her car.

He eyed the contents of her cup holders, and raised an eyebrow. "I take it you haven't upgraded to Rembrandt Status."

"Ah, no, I'd have to be an artist to get that membership level." She quipped, hoping to keep the tension she felt from showing.

He returned he snicker with a blank stare. "What?"

Her forced smile faded. "I'm a detective, Daddy; I quit art school a long time ago." She shot him a quick glance and bit her lip. "I thought Mom had told you."

"When, exactly, did this change happen?" His rough voice dropped dangerously. Rats, she felt like she was five and caught sneaking M&M's again.

"Second year of college. Zoe and I…fell out. I needed a job and money so," She dug her badge out of her pocket and handed it to him, "ta da."

He ran a large thumb over the gold colored metal, his face turning vague. "Time gets away from all of us, I guess." He cleared his throat. "Any guys or grandkids I need to know about before we get there, princess?"

She relaxed a little, but knew the whole truth was out of the question. "Nope."

They rode in peace to her apartment, and unloaded. Supper was eaten with false bravado, and she was relieved when her dad decided to watch the news.

The biggest section locally was about the Joker; apparently he had released another video. She watched with interest as he doled out the clues to the next victim and attack. Her phone started buzzing, and she answered to hear Gordon's voice on the other end.

"Richards, we need you down here. We have an…issue."

"Um, yeah, I'm watching the news right now."

"Batman's taking care of that," he snapped impatiently, "This has to do with a major player in the Mob. We need you to lure him out."

"If it's undercover you want, everyone in Gotham knows I'm a cop." Her dad gave her strange look, and she shrugged mouthing 'my boss'.

"No, it's his son we're going to use against him. He has a definitive type, and he's out clubbing tonight. I know you have family visiting, and I'm sorry, but…"

She sighed and muttered, "Yeah, I'll be right there." Hanging up, she gave her father a pleading look. "I just got called in; I may not be back for a while."

He waved a big and smiled sadly. "Go, go. Not your fault. I'll be fine with the television."

"There's a WWII marathon on channel fifteen," she offered, but he shook his head and tuned into a soap opera rerun. She paused in putting on her coat, and he shrugged. "A deal I made with your mom."

"Okay… Catch you later," she said hurrying to get the night behind her.

"NO! No way! Never!"

Gordon sighed, "You can't walk in there in Patton boots or cargo pants, Richards."

"Where would I put a gun in that thing?" She asked, glaring at the outfit they had selected. Pink long sleeved top, cut to fit closely, black skinny jeans and pink wedges. She would wear a bug in her necklace, a chunky fashion piece; her hair would be in a pony tail down her left side. It was, really, made for the target's taste.

"You won't be carrying one; we can't risk them finding one on you. Your little collection would sign your extinction slip."

"So not even my knife?" Jasmine asked despairingly.

"Not even toenail clippers."

With a growl of displeasure, she grabbed the pile of clothes and marched to the bathroom to change. After coming out, they tested the bug, ran over her cover story, pointed out the others who would be watching her back in the club, and the signals to use.

She got in the rental car, a hot pink convertible, and drove to the designated area. She walked in, taking on the attitude of a cocky girl who believed the world belonged to her alone. Ordering a tall, orange colored concoction, she swayed to the rhythm of the island band playing their hearts out.

Before long, she spotted the mob boss' son, and decided it was a good time for her wedge to give out. Letting her ankle slip to the side, Jasmine shrieked, and grabbed at him to stay upright. The added touch was her drink sloshing all over the place.

"Oh, gosh, I am so sorry, oh, look at this mess!" She griped in a high-pitched voice.

He smiled charmingly, and shrugged. "It happens. You okay? That could've taken your leg off."

"Only if it was a fake, buddy-boy." She winked. "I'm just ticked about my new shirt. Dang, yours got it too! Here, let me buy you a drink, it's the least I can do."


	12. Another Happening

12

Bruce and Jack were munching on nachos and listening to the radio as Jasmine worked the pretty boy. Alfred was polishing a coffee pot with his usual unperturbed demeanor, as calm in the hidden storage area as in Wayne Manor.

"She feels undressed without her weaponry." Bruce commented, trying to fish a jalapeño out of the melted cheese with a limp corn chip.

"Like father, like daughter," Jack mused, making doodles in his bowl of dip.

A laugh came over the signal that made them stop for a second, until they realized it was for the target's benefit. "Nice of her to call and fuel our little war," Jack surmised, wondering if he could flick a drop of cheese into Bruce's hair without missing, then decided against it since Alfred would see and spoil the effect.

"I can't deny the information is useful," Bruce admitted. "It can't be easy walking in as herself, and pretending to be something she isn't at the same time."

"You would know," Jack drawled in his rough garble. Bruce flicked a chip into the man's face.

A few minutes later, the fatal blow was dealt and the boy hauled away. Jasmine would fill them in on the interrogation later. Turning off the monitor, the men pulled out some maps and files to jot notes on.

The apartment was dark as Jasmine locked the door behind her. She peeped over the back of the couch to see her dad snuggled under his wool blanket, and arm draped over his eyes.

Walking softly to the bathroom, she cleaned off the make-up, and studied her face in the mirror. With her hair pulled back out of the way, the scar was clearly visible. Heaving a sigh, she went to her bedroom and tumbled gratefully into the mattress, asleep before she landed.

The smell of Alfred's exotic coffee woke her, plus a curse from her father as the bacon popped and scalded his arm with the hot grease. Rolling onto the floor, Jasmine staggered towards the sound of the radio playing the opening markets and local new bulletins. "You know, Daddy, I really did mean to be up in time to do all this." She apologized.

"Not a problem." He said mildly, his blue eyes turned to his work. "It's good for the soul to cook breakfast every so often."

"Soap opera line?" She asked, pouring a cup of coffee and clutching it gratefully.

"More like, something your grandfather would tell us growing up. He was a better cook than Grandma, to be honest." He handed her a plate of stir fried hash browns, veggies and eggs.

Staring down at the yellow, white, green and red pile, she asked, "How did you learn to cook?"

'"The military."

Deciding not to follow that subject, Jasmine set the platter on the table, and moved the forks to the left side of the plates. She smiled, remembering doing the same thing every meal while growing up. The visit from her dad would be a good thing, she knew. If only to get back in touch with everyone, it would be worth it.

They sat in silence as they ate, probably the calmest time she'd had since Jack showed up again. She glanced at the calendar and nearly dropped her fork.

"Oh, man! I'm due at Wayne Enterprises today, and I'm late. Dad, I'll clean up when I get home, it'll only take a few hours," She said in one breath.

"Relax, princess, don't worry. I know you didn't have time to plan for my visit.' He seemed sad and grudging in the admission, but at least he seemed to understand.

In fifteen minutes she had vanished, and Brian wandered the apartment aimlessly, trying to learn who this woman was that had replaced his daughter.

The paintings and art didn't tell him much. She dabbled, hanging her experiments on the walls to see if they had worked. The one of the silhouetted man caught his eye for a moment. The place had books and magazines, mostly about art or firearms. A few classic novels and the usual films and television shows graced the cases, but nothing revealing. She seemed to prefer a double sided existence, one of the common kind, the other of an edgy cop. Her bedroom held the usual jumble of scarves, shoes stacked in a corner, and some of their family pictures on the dresser. A few cases of shells for her hand guns were stored here and there, along with whetstones to sharpen a knife, but he saw no knife. She must have taken it with her. In the bathroom was an economy sized bottle of everything, lotion, shampoo, conditioner, and so on. The only thing expensive was a tube of prescription scar treatment cream.

He had nearly forgotten about her stay in the ICU of the hospital. He'd been called away from an important case to come. He'd had no sleep, was scared to death, furious because his work was falling through legally, and completely baffled why jasmine had insisted Zeke was to blame. The doctor had said that if she was mistaken, it would be the shock speaking. But he seemed to believe her.

What had he said to her while he was there? He couldn't remember, other than informing her Zeke was not to blame. She been heavily wrapped in gauze and lightly sedated some of that time, at least he thought she had been.

He could remember nearly every job he'd ever had, every detail of them. Why couldn't he remember the time he had spent with his own daughter in the hospital?

A buzz brought him back to earth. Pulling out his cell, he allowed his face to relax at the name. "Hello, Zeke… Yes, I'm in town… Yeah, I'm staying with Jasmine for the week… No she's fine, just got a big workload… Listen, how about lunch?... That sounds great, see you then."


	13. A Time to Cry

13

Jasmine walked in her door to feel she had picked the wrong address. Her dad was sitting at the table, looking at her coolly. "Um, hi."

"Sit down," he shoved a chair out with his foot. "We have to talk."

She slid into the seat offered her and crossed her arms. "Okay, shoot."

"I saw Zeke today, and asked him how you were doing."

Jasmine leapt to her feet, hitting the table with her knee as she did so. "_You did what_?"

"Calm down,"

"That twisted maniac and I haven't spoken since he landed me in the hospital. I want to keep it that way."

Brian rubbed his face. "He said you were under a lot of stress, the special assignments Gordon gives you, your friendship with Wayne. Don't get me wrong, I have respect for Bruce Wayne, I just don't think he's the guy to pursue."

Jasmine brought her fists down on the table and leaned forward. "Listen well, because I'm running out of patience. Zeke has no business knowing about my work or personal life. If he has that information, he got it illegally, and I'm going to bust his buns for it. Bruce happens to be the only person who treated me like a person in the hospital, and gave me a chance to get out of the hole I'd been dropped into. I was a cop before that happened, detective. Bet you never knew that. Bruce also happens to be interested in a good friend of mine, Rachel Dawes, did Zeke bring her up? I'd bet he didn't. And finally, if you haven't seen my scars, you don't need to present an opinion about how I should deal with the guy who put them there!"

She turned to walk away, but Brian bounded after her shouting, "Zeke didn't do a thing to you, not a blasted thing! You were hurting and I wasn't there for you, but that's my fault. It's no reason to make crud up about my oldest friend."

Spinning, jasmine pulled her hair back, showing the jagged white line from her hairline to the bottom of her jaw, three inches long, a fourth an inch wide. Just in front of it was a thin, neat line, red a puckered that only extended down about an inch.

"Look at me, Dad! Look at what he did! I went to him for help in a case, now I know it would have lead back to him. Zeke took all the information and promised to help me, and then drug me off in the middle of the night. He beat me up, he carved my face, and he looked me in the eyes and said because of you, I was too important to hand over to someone who didn't know me. He wanted to do it personally out of respect. And then, and then he said no one would ever believe me, and I might as well deal with it." Tears were running down her face, scalding tears of anger and regret. "Do you think I'd forget a thing like that? How could I make it up?"

Brian didn't answer. He just looked at her, really looked for the first time in years. Without a word, he grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Jasmine dropped her hair and somehow staggered over to the couch. She finally dialed the number for Wayne manor. Alfred answered, his crisp, clear voice impeccable as always.

"Hey, it's me." She managed, drawing in more air to support her voice. "Is Bruce or Jack there?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Richards, but they've gone out for the night…business you know."

"Oh, right." She said automatically, her mind drifting before she could stop it.

"Miss? What's wrong?" His voice was gentle, with just enough urgency to call her back to earth.

The tears started again, tears she had refused to cry since she had moved to Gotham. "I just had a fight with my dad, Alfred. I told him about my…about an old…I thought the truth was supposed to be better!" She leaned forward and sobbed quietly.

"I'll be over in a minute." He said, and the line went dead.

True to his word, he arrived shortly, bearing an assortment of teas. While the water heated, he let her tell the whole story. Handing her a mug of Australian Bush tea, he sat with her on the couch and frowned thoughtfully.

"You know, I used to be a spy. Truth. I was pretty good at it, matter of fact. It was before Mr. Wayne's father and I became acquainted, but that's another story. Before that, not a day went by I didn't have to lie or fake my way. I hurt a lot of innocent people that just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice." He pursed his lips and patted her hand. "You had a chance to clear the air, and tell your dad the truth about a man that can't be trusted. You came clean about yourself, and for the first time, you said what you had needed to say to someone who needed to hear it. Now, it will cause damage, but nothing that hasn't already been done. All you did was shine your flashlight on the bones. Your father's no fool, and he'll understand that in time. Now, what you have to do is behave in such a way that whatever happens now, no one can say you did anything but the best and most honorable job you could."

Jasmine let her brain process the words for a few minutes, and smiled. "Thanks. Thanks for coming, and listening, and letting me bawl. It's been a long time since I've been able to cry."

The astute butler gave her a wry smile. "My pleasure, Miss."

After a few minutes of silence, Jasmine asked in a more cheerful tone, "Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Will you marry me?"

Shocked into hearty laughter, he exclaimed, "Well, I'll consider it, Miss."


	14. More Crumbs

14

**_Recommended theme song for the next few chapters "Disturbia" by Rhiana_**

Brian flagged a taxi, and gave the first address that popped into his head.

It took about twenty minutes before they got there, none of which he remembered.

Standing on the curb, he realized that it was Zeke's home. Shoving his hands into him pockets, he studied the neat, white house and well kept lawn. Nothing fancy, but not a dump.

Jasmine's words had upset him, more than he wanted to admit. To face the fact that his best friend had effectively separated him from his daughter was a horrible thing to contemplate. The deeds his child had accused Zeke of were equally as bad.

The more he thought about it, the more turmoil rolled in his chest until he gave up and walked to the door. Zeke answered, and at the look on Brian's face, stood aside without a word.

"Jasmine told me something today, and I wanted to talk to you about it, Zeke." Brian Richards announced.

"Guess offering you a beer wouldn't be a good idea then." Zeke stalled.

"No, and answer me this: Did you carve Jasmine's face?"

Sitting down slowly, Zeke eyed his old friend closely. "What do you think?"

"I think…" Brian clenched his fists slowly. "I think you did it."

Zeke looked away, his face devoid of emotion. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Brian. We've been friends for a long time; I guess I thought that counted."

"It should, and leaving my daughter alone should be a part of the deal!" Brian screamed, blue eyes dark with pent up rage. "How could you? She came to you for help, she had no intention of hurting anyone. Unit 40 is dead and buried, just stop looking over your shoulder! It's going to get you killed, if I don't do that here and now."

The other man leaned forward, and studied the floor for a moment, then stood up and faced his former partner. "Her investigation had nothing to do with Unit 40. Jack is still out there, he could do enough damage, even though I slowed him down. No, she was looking into gang activity. Money flow, names, faces dealers, the usual. It lead right back to me, or would have." A smug smile crossed his face. "You see, I do consider you friend enough to be honest, and will honestly say that you have a very limited time to act on this little favor. Have a good life, Brian. I hope it lasts."

With that he turned away and Brian tore out of the house.

Hailing a taxi, he gave his daughter's address and prayed he wasn't too late.

Jasmine wondered if a new TV was in order. It had broken, fixed itself, and broken again. She gave up and took the back off to see if any wires were loose before throwing it away. A bang caused her to look up from the machine in her lap as her father walked in. He looked around franticly.

"No one's stopped by?"

She stared at him blankly. "Just Alfred Pennyworth, but he left ages ago. Where have you been?"

Brian combed the apartment, and came out with his bag crammed full of his stuff. "Pack a bag, we're leaving."

"I'm sorry, why?"

"I went to see Zeke. If I don't kill him, he should count himself lucky. Move, we have to get out of here."

She pushed the electronics aside and walked over to him. "Dad, what did he say?"

"I confronted him, he didn't like it." Brian laughed humorlessly.

"Yeah, that probably wasn't a good idea…"

He snorted. "He's not going to let either of us stay here long, at least not in one piece." She gave a dry smile, and he paused. "Jasmine, I'm so sorry, I should have listened." He dropped to the couch and rubbed his face. She waited a second, and then slid in beside him.

"You mean you believe me?"

"I should have all along, sweetie." He gripped her hand. "I have no idea what to do now."

She leaned back, her dark hair falling wherever it felt like. "I need to go to Wayne Tower, Dad. Why don't you come with me?"

Thirty minutes later, they were walking down the hall to Lucias' office. She checked in, accepted the file he handed her, and introduced her father. The older gentleman shook hands politely, wondering what would blow up this time.

Jasmine led Brian to Bruce's office, and was about to knock when an impeccable British voice said, "He'll be done in a moment, miss. Just signing for a material's trade."

She smiled and stuck her hands in her pockets. "Alfred, this is Brian Richards, my dad. This is Mr. Wayne's man, Alfred Pennyworth."

"Mr. Richards," Alfred nodded, a little stiffly. Apparently he wasn't as prepared to forgive and pretend nothing had happened as Jasmine was.

A group of men walked out, and the detective dove in. She was breathlessly explaining the situation to Bruce as her father and the butler entered. The young man's face was grim as he faced Richards.

"Is this true? Zeke Howe is involved with the mobs?"

Brian nodded. "I can turn him into my office, I work for the government. But that could take a lot longer than is wise."

"Turn him in anyway, I don't want to face a lawsuit." Bruce studied them for a second. "Alfred, take Jasmine to the storage units, I'll run over a few things with Mr. Richards and be along later."

"Very good, sir." He ushered the young woman out of the building, and into the gorgeous black car he drove.

She buckled up and glanced back at Wayne Enterprises. "I hope Bruce knows he's just emptied a can of worms."

"Never fear, miss, he's been living in a can of worms since he outfitted the batcave."

Laughing, she closed her eyes. "Jack is going to have a field day."

"I wouldn't doubt it." He remarked, wryly.


	15. Bank Job

15

Jack didn't as much as twitch when Alfred and Jasmine arrived in the underground storage area. He was completely concentrated on the wires he was connecting under a magnifying glass. His face was clean for once, and he was dressed all in black.

It was a pity, she thought, that he couldn't dress that way more often. He looked almost normal.

Jasmine went to the fridge, pulled out the iced tea pitcher and began fixing herself a glass. Alfred started heating some water, and she began to wonder if it were a reflex of his to make hot beverages. She further wondered if the dinks predicted a mood, but then realized it was his mentality to simply look after anyone who happened to be around him. If you liked coffee, you would have coffee. If you enjoyed soda pop, you would get soda pop.

In Jasmine's case, he had to read the situation and do the best he could. Looking back, she could honestly say that she had no complaints.

Jack's cell buzzed, and he looked at the screen. Suddenly, he jumped up and tore to the bathroom. When he came out, he was wearing full Joker attire.

"I called the bat-boy. Said to bring you along, Jazzy."

With a regretful glance at Alfred and her iced tea, she checked her guns and followed the man out of the building as he began explaining an intricate and totally asinine plan.

Apparently, Chris Napier had settled on a surprise party for a local bank. Jack crouched behind a dumpster, frowning through his eyebrows.

"I'll call when the time comes. Go find your dad, he's with batsy someplace. And don't," He grabbed her arm warningly, "don't tell him I'm here yet. He's already had a loooooonnnng daaaaaaaaaaay."

Nodding, she took off, waving her badge at the officers holding back thrill seekers. Just inside the police line, she saw her dad, looking up at the building his craggy face set in firm lines. It was the look he had given her when she'd disobeyed him growing up, and anything that followed it was never pleasant.

"Dad, where's Bruce?"

"He's on his cell phone, arranging some help for us." He glanced around. "Who gave you a lift, princess?"

She was studying the bank doors, spinning her own phone through her fingers. "An associate of Wayne's."

He grunted. "I've been learning about quite a few of his 'associates' today."

Before she could ask what he meant, Gordon trotted up, wearing a protective vest. "Richards, go to the truck and get some gear on. I don't need people dead through negligence."

Obediently, she and her father went to the truck and put on the dragonskin lined vests and pants. Brian eyed the various groups and shook his head. "This whole thing is turning into a regular hornets' nest. Have you seen this Joker guy?"

"Several times. He tried to blow up the Wayne building."

"That reminds me, what is your job over there exactly?"

She blinked a couple of times. "Really, you want to know now?"

"Good point."

They rejoined Gordon and Jasmine held her phone tightly. She twitched when it buzzed and waited for Jack to speak.

"Ooooooooooookaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyy, let's roll. Got your toys?"

"Yep."

"Give it a sec, and I'll clear the way."

She hung up, ignoring Gordon's puzzled gaze. A few minutes passed, and his phone rang. He listened, his face growing darker each moment. Tilting the receiver away, he said, "It's the Joker, he wants you and your dad to go in. Says to follow the main stairs, he'll meet you at the top. Richards, I don't like it."

She shrugged. "It's okay." Pulling out her guns, she checked to be sure her clips were full, and stuck two extra clips in for each. Sliding her knife free of her boot, she put in her belt and draped her shirt over it. Her father was doing the same with his matched set of military issue semi-autos.

Gordon handed them each a couple of smoke bombs, and watched grudgingly as they entered the bank.

Whatever Chris had intended, he had clearly finished with there. Dirt hung in the air, doors hung off of singed hinges. Some bodies were stacked along the desk. Clearly any survivors had been moved out of sight. Brian and Jasmine held their weapons low against their sides and took turns clearing the nooks along the way to the stairs. As they climbed, they could hear every sound the building made, but nothing human.

On the second floor landing, windows had been broken out, furniture and wall hangings shredded. They kept climbing.

On the top floor, the fifth, there was nothing but the mess. Brian relaxed a little, but kept his gun out. Jasmine nudged a paperweight with her toe.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she stifled a scream, ramming her Berretta into the neck of the stranger, ready to pull the trigger.

"Whoa, hold it beautiful, it's me."

"Doggone it, Jack, you are seriously about to get shot just for annoying me!"

Brian had his own firearm leveled, and a smoke bomb out, his thumb under the pin. Jasmine waved him off. "It's just the decoy, Dad."

"Oh, 'Just the decoy.' Thanks a lot!" Jack huffed, slouching into a splay legged crouch and tracing smiley faces in the debris on the floor.

"So, where's Chris?" She asked, hoping her dad wouldn't come unglued when he understood who was under the make-up.

"He cleared out early this time. The survivors are in the alley, none with bombs attached. He was board today, I guess. You can let Gordon know the building's clean." He went to the nearest window, climbed up to the frame and waved dramatically. "Seeeee yoooouu later!"

Brian started forward as he vanished, but realized he couldn't stop it. Jasmine holstered her weapons.

"He'll catch up with us, let's go."


	16. New Insight

16

The sun seemed horribly bright after the dirty, clouded air in the bank.

Jasmine gave Gordon the location of the survivors and the all clear to go in. When she turned around, he dad was yanking at the Velcro on his vest.

As she walked up to him, he turned and glared her down.

"When were you going to tell me Jack was involved?"

"You think I could've planted the virus without someone to set it up for me?"

His breath clicked. "The information isolation virus was you? How many laws have you broken today alone?"

She peeled her own vest off, glad to have the air move around her again. "I didn't feel like I had a choice. Jack's always been a good friend; I couldn't just _not_ listen or help."

"Zeke was a good friend, or so I thought. How long have you been involved with Napier?"

"I don't know, a few weeks, couple of months." She put her knife back where it belonged. "Look, at the time I didn't have a lot of options."

"And now?" He challenged.

Jasmine put her hands on her back and leaned against them until her spine popped. "I've got you on my side."

He softened, but didn't relent. "I should have picked up when you called."

"I'm a cop, Dad, I know why you didn't."

"I should have known you were a detective, I should have known you and Zoe weren't working together."

"It's okay."

He leaned back against the van, and watched Gotham's best bring people from the bank to family and friends. "I should have been there when everything blew up in your face."

"Look, Dad," she stopped as the coroner's van backed in.

He cleared his throat. "I'll be there next time, princess. I promise."

"I know you will, Daddy."

Brian gripped her in a bone crushing hug, which she tried to return. After a second, he let go, and walked towards the street to call a cab.

The taxi dropped them off at Jasmine's car in Wayne's parking garage. She started the engine and noticed a note with Alfred's perfect handwriting on it. Ripping open the flap, she scanned it quickly.

_Miss, _

_Meet us at the storage and bring Mr. Richards.__Master Wayne has informed him duly. _

_Regards, _

_Pennyworth_

Groaning, she backed out and took the side streets to avoid traffic.

At the containers, her father's mouth tightened, but he didn't say anything. When the elevator descended, he made a clutch at the wall, but recovered quickly. Jasmine knew he had to have been exhausted after all that had happened since his visit to Zeke.

It was no surprise that Alfred had food out when they arrived. Jack was clearly well past his first plates, and Bruce was filling a second.

"So, Batman," Brian began ominously. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't turn you in."

"Because your daughter's involved." Bruce said mildly, raising a set of tongs that dangled lunchmeat. "Besides, you're curious about what we know, and what we have to offer. Take a look," He motioned towards the monitor on a workbench. "Password is on the sticky tab, Jack forgets."

"Drop dead," the operative rebutted. He still had red around his mouth scars that hadn't washed off, making him look really bizarre.

Brian pulled up the files Bruce named, and read them without a word. After about an hour, he turned to face them, and looked each in the eye before speaking.

"To sum up: Zeke has been connected with the mob for years. He turned in Unit 40, carved Jack's face, and sent some thugs to snap his brother Chris. Chris is the real Joker; Jack is covering his tracks to save the family. Am I right so far?"

They nodded.

"You began working with the…face of the Joker to keep the trail alive. Zeke has connections to the Gotham Police, government and so on. When Jasmine unknowingly uncovered his connections to another city's crime, he put her in a situation to discredit her. He played on mine and my family's preoccupation with our own affairs to turn things in his favor. You offered her a job out of curiosity, and found that she had the history and potential mindset to help with this whole caped crusader ploy."

They nodded again.

"You gave her virus to bring me or someone like me here. What puzzles me is how you moved any small players out of the way to clear a path to Zeke."

Jack was rubbing his gut, wriggling like a worm in his chair. "Your little girl worked undercover for night. The police caught and pulled names from the man she helped arrest. He happened to be the son of one mobster. Can anyone tell me why I eat potatoes?"

"Not why you eat six plates of them." Bruce rejoined habitually while watching Brian.

The government man studied the floor and shook his head. "What next?"

"We have to clear both Zeke and Chris out of the way." Bruce answered, pulling his chair over by Brian. "If Chris is ignored, his brain will go completely, and there won't be a snowflake's chance in July of stopping him. If we leave Zeke, he's going to come after Jasmine and then every other member of your family. He won't just let a little blood this time."

"Agreed."

Jack popped from his place at the table to the group by the computer. "Chris goes to jail; we have trouble on our hands. Zeke lives, Gotham can't touch the weasel and we die. We have to get them together with a dual arrest plan and a major blow out if that fails."

"And do you have such a plan?"

"Oh, yeah, I've got a backup to the backup to the backup plan."

Brian cleared his throat. "You are the guy who jumped out of a fifth floor window today. I don't want your plan."

They began all talking at once, and Jasmine could see the excited gleam in her father's eyes. It had been a long time since he was so eager to be involved in anything. She smiled, and caught sight of Alfred's face. He was removed, as always, but she caught the telltale hint of a bittersweet curve at the corner of his lips.

"How long have you been helping Bruce with this?" She asked.

He thought for a moment. "Going on three years or more now, I suppose. Why do you want to know, Miss?"

She had to consider her answer, she wasn't really sure. "I guess, because it would help me answer something about myself."

He sat beside her and patted her hand. "You don't have to be the one to go through with it."

"Can you think of another way?"

"Not off the top of my head, but that doesn't mean there isn't a second choice."

"This time, I don't think there is."

They watched the others for a moment, and then Alfred returned to cleaning up the impeccable kitchen area. "Have you considered what comes after?"

Jasmine had considered 'after'. After The Joker was caught, after Zeke was caged, after this, after that. It had always been the next case or art project for her, the next week to the next paycheck when she would pay her bills, put some in the bank, and invest the rest. She didn't have anyone special or any children to think about didn't have any close friends outside of the men gathered there and Rachel. She didn't club, didn't shop, and didn't have any of a thousand countless little obsessions to keep her looking forward to the years following retirement. To be honest, for Jasmine Richards there had never been an after.

"No," was all she said. Then standing added, "Gordon will happily kill me tomorrow when I present him with the plan, so after isn't a problem."

"How do you know your father will agree?" Alfred asked.

She gave him wry look. "So, you've helped Batman for about three years, and Bruce his whole life. Do you think my dad stands a chance of refusal?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, I don't think he does."

Walking towards the bathroom, she saw some papers scattered over Jack's cot. One caught her eye briefly.

It was a very battered child's pencil sketch of a friend.


	17. End of the Cookie Crumb Trail

17

**_Recommended songs, "Frequency" By Duncan James, "Bleeding Out" by Imagine Dragons._********_If you think of a better one, please do leave it in the reviews!_**

As predicted, Gordon was not pleased when Batman gave him the basis of the scheme. He was less pleased when Jasmine and her father became involved.

However, he did agree to help.

Rachel proved the hardest to convince. "Not fair." She'd snapped.

"I'll be right there," Jasmine offered, "at least most of the time."

"Most of the…thanks a lot, that helps a bundle!"

Jack's voice came over the speakerphone held loosely in Bruce's hand. "We'll have eyes on you the whole time, sheesh. It's not like we didn't consider the possibility that something could go wrong."

Rachel crossed her arms furiously. "You have this on speaker? Bruce,"

"Sorry, sorry," he scrambled to try and look like he was going to turn it off, but then gave up and just held it out with a smile. Jasmine grabbed it and dropped in the front pocket on her jacket.

"Who is that?" the lawyer demanded.

"A friend, who happens to be working with us on this." Bruce said, "He couldn't make it, and I wanted him to hear what was said."

Jasmine caught her dad rolling his eye, and bit back a smile. Rachel studied them all, and then shook her head. "You are all just fantastic. I can't believe this. Okay, fine, what do I do?"

Bruce handed her a flash drive. "Just install this. Someone else will take care of the rest."

"I hate you, all of you." She wagged the drive in their faces to prove it.

As they walked down the stairs, Brian let out a sigh. "That went well."

Together, Bruce and Jasmine said, "Then you don't know Rachel."

"That's weird, don't do that." Brian muttered, dropping to the pavement to look for bombs under the car. Alfred leaned stepped out, making him jump.

"I was here the whole time, Mr. Richards. No one came near the car."

Sitting between her father and Bruce Wayne, Jasmine had to smile. In a novel it would have been a girl's worst nightmare, the handsome, rich guy on one side, the stern father who could shoot on the other. She thought it was great to have them all in the same space. Her mother would have had a fit, but she was having a ball.

For the moment.

At the manor, Jack had set out a scale model of a downtown building. He was putting markers on various points and punching notes into an iPad. He didn't even look up as they walked in. "I have the structures strongest and weakest points color coded, along with our routes. If you can make the dump on the roof this afternoon, I can set everything up overnight."

Bruce looked at the list his cohort had typed up. "I can get most of it done; you'll have to do the rest. I don't want to make more than one trip and tip someone off."

Jack chewed on his thumbnail. The scars rippled as the thought. "If you can put the last stuff in a few duffels and a backpack, I should be able to carry it in alone."

Brian leaned on the table and studied the model. "I can't believe you talked me into this. Where am I going to be?"

"Across the street, on the roof of the office building, here." Bruce showed Mr. Richards the city map for those few blocks. "We need a good shot to keep an eye on things from there."

"And where will Jasmine be?" He asked.

"I'm Rachel's guard." She replied, crouching to look inside the building model. Running a finger along the weakest lines, she mused, "This thing should have come down years ago."

"The owner's trying to get a few permits, can't budge yet." Jack ran down some calculations and made marks on the model. "Batty, do you think you can run a few charges from your post?"

Bruce was walking out of the room, and called over his shoulder, "Just load it into my vocal command unit." He turned to face them briefly. "Oh, and call me Batty again you're going to be strapped to one of those charges."

"That's nice," Jack was already in another world, checking a simulation on his pad.

Brian shook his head and went over to look out a window. "This is bringing back all sorts of memories about Unit 40. And reminds me why I was glad it was over."

Jasmine smiled and curled up on a chair. She desperately needed a nap.

Brian watched as the Wayne chopper took off, carrying a load of supplies and explosives. He was sure there had to have been a better way to do it, but couldn't think of it.

Jasmine was packing the model into a box, and reading numbers off a notepad to Jack. The older man studied them and listened to their friendly rejoiners.

Poor Jonathan Napier. He hadn't stood a chance with the brain of a master arsonist and the soul of a poet. Zeke had simply put him where he would have probably ended up anyway. That didn't justify it, it never would. But it was a sobering idea.

Jack was the kind who pushed back, pushed until he was broken. His scars were only the banner he wore to declare his cause. Zeke's treachery and brutality was the spark, Chris' family was the driving force, and once those were gone, there would be nothing left. He had no idea what Jack would do when that moment arrived.

Jasmine was much the same way. She had become used to existence only, not living that existence out. Her bright smiles that hid the emptiness, those weapons were her steel soul externalized. He knew now he was looking at a version of himself, a version of himself that continually looked for the hope without being able to feel it. She was the price society paid for its safety, and she would be the first to be trampled when they no longer understood that price.

Bruce called about an hour later and gave Jack the all clear. Painting his face and donning the purple and green get-up, he loaded a car and drove to the building.

It was three in the morning before they were all in the same room again. Jack pulled his gloves off, smacking his lips, licking the scars. Brain eyed him uncomfortably. "I think you and I need to talk about your professional appearance after this is over."

"This? This is expensive, I'll have you know."

"Well, you got hosed." Brian returned to the window and looked out again.

Jasmine joined him, grinning. "I like the driveway too."

"What?" He glanced at her.

She pointed. "The driveway. You've been studying it for hours."

"Just thinking."

"Lot of that going around."

They stood there, looking in the same direction, neither really seeing anything at all. Brian let out a gusty sigh.

"I love you, no matter what."

She smiled, and this one started in her eyes. "I love you too, Dad."

"I'm proud of you, princess. I want you to know that."

"I know."

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

Everyone but Jack descended the stairs, and found Alfred talking to a very agitated Gordon. The policeman charged towards Bruce, holding out his phone.

"The text just came in. They have Rachel." He sighed. "I already started the Bat-signal."

Nodding, Bruce gave them the sign to move. As they scattered, he called to the officer, "I'll head over to Wayne Enterprises; can you go to the station and relay dispatch to this frequency?"

Gordon gave one nod, and shot the others a strange glance before disappearing.

The group got in their respective vehicles, with their personal equipment and scattered. A brightly colored convertible passed Jasmine, and a black chopper flew over her head. She smiled dangerously.

The trail of crumbs was about to end for good.


	18. Fallout

18

**_Recommended listening; "It's My Life", "We weren't Born to Follow" by Bon Jovi, "In the End" by Black Veil Brides, "Eyes Open" by Taylor Swift, or "Don't You Worry Child" by Swedish House Mafia. _********_Post alternate songs in the reviews if you think of them,_**

Jasmine parked about half a block from the building where Rachel was. She tapped the steering wheel nervously. Jack had called, and they had talked through a few last minute details, but neither had spoken for a while. They simply held the line open in silence.

She glanced up at where her father and Alfred were supposed to be. She knew Batman was flying back and forth above her, but didn't bother to try and see him in the pre-morning darkness.

Jack's voice cracked over the cell, in full Joker mode. "Alllll riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight Honey! It's a go. The map should be on your phone."

"You won't forget what you promised?"

"Never, Jazz. Now scoot, or do I have to put a banana peel under you?"

Ignoring him, Jasmine pulled up the map and followed his instructions carefully. He had loaded the place with about half a ton of explosives, and she didn't want to find herself tripping over a hidden wire. There were little clown faces where Chris had positioned his goons, she noted as she slung her duffle of tools over her shoulder.

According to Batman and Jack, Chris had Rachel on the roof of the building, near the air and electrical control units. She knew shooting without a target there would be risky due to ricochet. A bullet from her own gun could well prove her demise. She'd just have to keep low and not fire unless she had a clear line.

Walking quickly and quietly through a side door, she cross-stepped along a wall until she could see around one of the corners. Flashing the phone map, she could see the first floor was clear of Chris' men. Running to the stairs, she careened up to the second floor landing. Clearing the area, she charged up again, and checked her phone.

Going up the main stairs was a risky affair. If a clown arrived, she'd have worse than no cover and he would have the high ground. She had to clear the closest areas, and have someplace located to hide before she reached each floor. Jack's maps proved invaluable to doing it. She hoped her mother never found out.

Jasmine was about half-way up before a group of clowns moved on patrol. She slid into the space between a garbage bin and the wall. As they neared, she screwed the suppressor onto the barrel of each handgun, moving slowly and forcing her breath to stay even.

They walked past her and around the group of vacant offices. When their footsteps faded, she rolled to her feet and scooted to the stairs. Pausing to make sure no one had heard her; Jasmine launched herself upwards, guns ready.

As Jack had predicted on the virtual map, the amount of goons grew as she neared the lawyer. It slowed her down quite a bit, and she was beginning to dread the fact that she might have to shoot and then dispose of one without being seen. If it took much longer to reach the top, Rachel would be the one waiting to kill her.

When Brian had asked why they couldn't just drop her on the roof, Bruce had pointed out that even with the black equipment and outfits, they would still be visible. Chris would have his men from three floors on the roof to nail them in seconds. If they could just appear, it would greatly improve their chances.

The elevator was another no –no. Apparently it hadn't been functional for quite some time, and when it had been, lights indicated the floors being passed. Any idiot could have seen their approach that way, so working or not it was off the table.

The last set of steps came into view and her thighs burned terribly. Jasmine wanted to strangle Jack for pooh-poohing her repelling suggestion. It would have taken a fraction of the time and agony. She really should have worked out harder at Marty's.

A sleepy guard in the dumb clown mask shuffled by, and a stanza from her favorite poem came to mind.

Black and white, scars at night

Where the truth is hard to fight,

Darkness shows your deepest fright,

Nothing there, barely light,

Black and white, another night.

She should have asked Bruce to get night vision goggles from Fox.

There were a lot of things she should have done, Jasmine thought as she slid into a patch of shadows near the stairs.

A text flashed on the screen as she reached the door to the roof. Jack was back with her dad, and gave her the all clear to go out.

As quickly as silence would allow, she darted out and closed the door behind her. An air conditioning unit was nearest, and she pressed against it, giving her legs a brief rest. The map showed Rachel's position about halfway down one side, towards the left of where she was.

"Come on, Bruce," she muttered.

A few minutes later a text from the masked flyer told her to prep, the way would be clear in fifty seconds.

Jasmine pulled the duffle down, and removed the parts for two lightweight riffles. They were designed by Fox for these kinds of situations, mostly heavy duty metal substitutes that would withstand the heat and recoil the force of the bullets exploding out would create. She snapped the barrels to the bodies, and the bodies to the stocks. Loading them with the elongated clips, she slung one on each arm and pulled out the charge from the side of the bag.

Returning to the door, she attached the timer and tripwire, setting the plastic explosives along the bottom of the door. Any unwanted arrivals wouldn't get far.

Her screen flashed, the all-clear.

Checking her arsenal one last time, she gripped the guns close and ran to where Rachel was supposed to be. Thankfully, Jack had given her the right place, and the lawyer was there with a big man in purple.

"Never thought you'd get here!" He yelled cheerfully. He sounded so much like Jack she nearly tripped. He wore the rubber mask, though, not paint. He pointed his cheap handgun at the woman's head, holding her collar tightly so she couldn't move. "Your move, lady cop!"

"I thought you'd use a knife, it being so much more satisfying and all." Jasmine stalled, allowing her eyes to un-focus enough for her peripheral vision to work cleanly. Where was it?

He laughed a really annoying laugh, high and rough. It was tempting to bring her weapons up, but she was committed to the plan now. "That's Jack's weapon of choice, honey. Guess what? I know you planted this one for me to get, how bland! Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Can't ol' baby brother come skin me himself? He wants to, he should. It should be a family affair."

"It will be if the public gets wind of who the real Joker is. What about your family then, Chris?"

He just shrugged. "They're big kids; they can play on their own." A smile crossed his face under the mask. "What about you? Who do you run back to, to hide behind?"

"My cat."

He howled for no good reason. She sighed and shot a dirty look in the general direction of where Jack would be.

Brian was watching through the field glasses. He couldn't hear, but could guess, that what Chris was saying would be senseless and irritating. Jasmine's hands twitched around the rifle grips, and he couldn't help but smile at the sign of irritation. It was getting close to five in the morning, and no one had slept.

"See the snake yet?" Alfred inquired, even voiced.

"Nope." Brian lowered the binoculars to glance at the butler. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Often, when I worked as an intelligence officer. Spy, if you'd rather."

Nodding, Richards turned back to get a better look at Rachel. "Jack, radio Batman and let him know the package is safe. Doesn't even look scuffed."

Jack set down the knife he was polishing, relayed the information, and returned to his task. He was sitting abnormally still, all things considered.

After about five minutes, Brian snapped his fingers. "Hey, hey, there he is, he's walking up the roof."

Sending word to Batman, they gathered to watch. Jack nudged Brian. "Get the charges online. We won't have time later."

The sunlight was just beginning to break behind them.

Chris was ready to pull the trigger. Jasmine let him do the talking; knowing a blink at the wrong second would end it for Rachel.

"So, how's that for a crummy life?" He finished grandly.

"A perfect example of imperfection," she said evenly and he beamed at her through the mask.

"I'm board, so say bye-bye pretty eyes," he chirped into Rachel's ear. "You'll go out with a bang, I promise."

There was the promised bang, more than one in fact. It was Chris who fell over, not Rachel.

Jasmine flicked the switch on the guns from Semi-auto to full, and held the triggers down. In three seconds, a group of four mobsters crashed to the ground. She let go, and the bullets stopped.

Without waiting, she gripped Rachel's arm and pulled her up. "I'm really sorry, but you're going to have to jump."

"WHAT!?"

"Batman's there, so jump already!" Giving her a shove that sent her staggering to the edge, Jasmine returned to Chris' body. More Mobsters came around the power units, and she sent a few blasts at them. The Joker's men tried to open the door, but the blast sent them back below.

When no one else tried to come at her, Jasmine pulled a make-up kit from her pocket, and then took off Chris' mask and suit. She traded it with some other dead goons, switching any identifying papers or items as well. She painted the strangers face with the kit. White first, black eyes, red lips.

"Did you really think spreading that tempting little virus would catch both of us?" A familiar voice asked. The young detective hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, and then continued with her work. Zeke continued.

"Chris would have rolled over, but by then you would have all been dead and we would have been gone. Well entrenched in our sister cities, where no one could ever find us. Poor Rachel nearly died for nothing."

"You know perfectly well I wouldn't have let that happen." She replied evenly.

"I know perfectly well you _think _you wouldn't have." He paced closer, hands in his pockets. "Either way, I couldn't let Chris live on the off chance he'd convince the right people. When are you going to learn that the only right is what you create for yourself each moment?"

_Black and White, Scars at Night._

Jasmine smiled grimly, ignoring his voice as it went on. "Do you think Jack's little ploy to clear his brother's name will work? Chris' family won't see a dime, Jack can't go out in public, and what will you gain by taking me in? Peace of mind?"

"I still have my dad and any friends who count. You can't claim that much." She challenged, putting one of the riffles into Chris' hand and pressing his fingers around the cleaned handle and trigger.

He snorted. "Look where that's gotten you. You can't walk out any more than I can."

_Black and White, Scars at Night._

Jasmine glanced over her shoulder at the rising sun. She gave three clear nods as she stood. "There is right and wrong, good and evil. You choose it, and I know you can tell the difference. You used to love us, until the cost of your fun hurt. Remember what happened when I came to you for help, _Uncle Zeke_?" She leveled the riffle.

He smirked. "You aren't going to shoot me with your dad watching across the way."

"I will if I have to. Neither of us is leaving this roof, Zeke."

The implication of her words hit home as the first bomb blew. His face went pale, and he froze.

_Black and White, Scars at Night. _

The second, third blasts went before the supporting areas started to give out. Turning to run, Zeke only made it as far as the second line of power and air units. The riffle spat, and he fell.

Gold and red light burst over Gotham in brilliant, cloudless glory.

Brian had been watching through the glasses. Jack had given him the signal to start the timer on the charges. It would be about ten minutes before it set off, he thought, enough time for Jasmine to clear Zeke off the roof.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the first explosion growled through the morning. When he recovered from the shock and returned his gaze to the roof, Zeke had already fallen, and Jasmine was facing them, riffle resting on her hip.

"Stop the charges, Jack! Stop them now!" He screamed in panic.

_"__And now?" He challenged._

_"__I've got you on my side."_

_He softened, but didn't relent.__ "__I should have picked up when you called." _

_ "__It's okay."_

The hideous chuckle of flames joined with the roar of bombs, the screeching of the falling building. He dropped the binoculars, reaching out for his daughter. Why didn't she reach back? More words returned to his mind.

_ "__I should have been there when everything blew up in your face."_

_"__Look, Dad,"_

_"__I'll be there next time, princess.__I promise." _

_"__I know you will, Daddy."_

He burst into sobs as Jack grabbed him and held him, calling for Alfred to help. He had been about to jump towards Jasmine.

_"__I love you, no matter what."_

_She smiled, and this one started in her eyes.__ "__I love you too, Dad." _

_"__I'm proud of you, princess.__I want you to know that."_

_"__I know."_

She stood there, a confidant smile on her lips. She had been the bait all along, not Rachel. She had made her choice.

"I'm sorry, Brian," Jack whispered in his ear. "She made me promise to hold you back. I'm so sorry."

By the time police, fire and rescue, EMTs, and volunteer emergency workers had arrived; the top three floors had collapsed in a rain of fire and debris.


	19. Afterward

19

**_Recommended songs for listening:_****_ "_****_Somebody Still Loves You" by Duncan James, "Canon in D", "Breathe" by Taylor Swift, or "Amnesia" by 5 Seconds of Summer. _**

The apartment had only taken the family two weeks to pack up and sort out. Jasmine was by necessity ruthless in throwing away non-essentials.

Bruce and Alfred gave the Richards family free run of one wing of Wayne manor, helping any way they could think of. Jack kept his distance, but was just as willing to be available.

Fox locked himself in his office for a solid day when he heard the news. What he thought about, no one ever knew.

Marty and his clientele became an unofficial honor guard near the police station while the investigation came to a close. It was a mute testimony to the results a passing acquaintance can leave in the world.

When the time came for the funeral, the family decided that they would only hold a graveside, as the coffin couldn't be opened.

The white wood with black trim gleamed dully in the cloudy day. Every so often, the sun peeked through, giving a jarring contrast to the event. A guest book and basket for cards was placed near the cemetery drive. Roses, lilies, bleeding hearts, and of course, jasmine, jammed the area behind the coffin and newly cut headstone. A harpist from a local church had agreed to play the music.

Every member of Jasmine's family had made it, and huddled together as if they were holding each other upright. Gordon had arranged for an honor detail from the department, the gym was duly represented, and just behind the family stood Bruce, Rachel, Alfred and Jack with a high collar and scarf to hide his scars.

The service had started when a late car pulled in and a lady got out. The woman walked by the basket and dropped in a large, fat card addressed to "Mr. Brian Richards and Family with Love and Regrets."

She was dressed in a pantsuit, so dark green it was almost black. The flared legs swished neatly around her high heels, which she walked perfectly on. Her silk shirt was green with orange stripes, and on the neck ruffle a starburst diamond pin glimmered. Matching earrings were visible through the shoulder length, absurdly red hair. She wore large, dark glasses, and moved in a precise manor. No one looked around as she slipped quietly in between Alfred and Jack. Both men took one of her green gloved hands.

Jack leaned over so his mouth was close to her right ear and whispered, "Welcome back, Jazz."

**_Anyone interested in a sequel yet?_**


End file.
